


The Basement

by LadyMorgaine



Series: Seventeen AUs [3]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Fae & Fairies, KimNamSeok, M/M, Vampires, Werewolves, vkook, yoonmin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2020-04-08 09:16:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 30,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19104169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMorgaine/pseuds/LadyMorgaine
Summary: Boo Seungkwan wanders into The Basement, a nightclub deep in New York's Meatpacking district for a hookup that never turns up. Instead, it throws him into the supernatural world that hides behind the glittering city facade, and his life is never the same again.





	1. Chapter 1

The first time Seungkwan saw the boy that fascinated him so dreadfully was at a club, illuminated by the deep reds and moody purples of the club’s lighting. He was at the DJ booth, clad simply in a singlet and torn jeans, and he was perfection from the top of his dyed head to the bottom of sneakered toes. His arms gleamed bright in the black-light they had hidden somewhere, firmly muscled and tight and decorated with what looked like UV paint. He was spinning something heavy, a remake of the Prototypes’ Redose, and the club was thumping.

 

Seungkwan stared, fascinated. He had never been at the Basement, being so far from the typical club kid that it wasn’t funny, but he was meeting a hookup here somewhere… if he ever could get through the crush to the bar. He didn’t really feel like it. Instead, he stood there and stared at the DJ, eyes finding rest in the way cherry hair got coloured something closer to blood. His face was canted down but he could see sweat beading at his hairline. For a moment he wondered how such a beautiful person could exist.

 

The boy looked up and straight at him, odd-coloured eyes piercing down into his core. He didn’t say anything, his hands moved on automatic, but there was a connection between them, a heaviness that resounded just like the music. The screaming crowd drowned beneath that connection, becoming mere accessories to the thump-thump-thump of the beat between them. His breath caught, spine molten, and he knew he’d do anything for him. Anything at all if he just continued to look at him like that.

 

The ping of his phone distracted him and he shook his head, ducking it as he pressed through to the bar. It was a struggle but he triumphed, finding a small space to stand in as he switched his phone on. The illumination of it distracted the closest bartender and called him over. Tall and thin, but so impeccably dressed in fuckboy waiter attire: slim-fitting black pants, casual black shirt opened at his neck and rolled up over his forearms. His eyes were dark-dark-dark to the point where they seemed less eyes than empty windows and it threw Seungkwan for a moment.

 

“Get you anything?” Smooth voice, cultured, not what you’d expect from a fuckboy bartender.

 

Seungkwan risked a look down at his phone, wanted to curse at the ‘couldn’t make it, see you later?’ on there and looked up at the dark, dark eyes. “Something strong,” he said simply. Bitterness made him add “Something to loosen me up.”

 

The bartender cast a look at him, taking his time to trace from the ultraviolet blue of his hair to the slightly-too-preppy clothing he had on, and merely nodded. For a moment there was a flicker of curiosity on his face; seconds later he turned to make the drink. It arrived in a tall glass, involved what looked like an energy drink and something that foamed. When it arrived, it had a smaller secondary glass filled with a clear liquid. “This first,” the bartender said, indicating the shot glass. “Shake, wait a moment and down it. Then the Jägerbomb. All in one breath.”

 

Thinking of the assignments he had at the dorm, Seungkwan smirked and did as the doctor ordered. The first hit him like a freight train running in the night, heavy and soundless and potent. Tequila with the bitterness of lime omitted but still burning. Then the clink of the Jägermeister falling in the energy drink; that felt like sliding into sin, burning and bubbly and dangerous, as if he injected adrenaline into his veins.

 

He actually swayed when he finished the last drop and looked up at the bartender again. His face blurred, looked leaner for a moment, but was back in the next moment, sinfully beautiful but remote. “Thanks,” he slurred, waving his phone over the wireless paypoint. It crashed on his shoulders: the disappointment of the night’s missed hook-up, the mysterious angles of the bartender’s face, the aching beauty in heterochromatic eyes.

 

“Dance.”

 

Seungkwan wasn’t sure whether it was a command or a suggestion, but he turned from the bar and did just that, creeping ever deeper into the pit of bodies to dance. He danced until his heart felt as if it wanted to explode; there were hands on his hips and a tall body dancing behind him when he paid attention again. Somewhere along the line the lights had died down, bathing everyone in the ghostly blues of black-light augmented with vivid UV tattoos. He saw a man that looked like stars, tribal patterns dancing over and around people, aboriginal rainbow dragons on the arms that held him.

 

He was light and heat and need and passion. His skin smeared with lines, bruised up with UV paints. In the distance he saw the ghostly radiance of a vampire’s teeth, sharp and seductive. The drinks let him hear colour, see potential, until the night passed like a technicolour trip. Hours later, soaked to the bone with sweat and utterly spent, he fell asleep without seeing the hickeys that decorated his neck.

 

* * *

 

Seungkwan stepped off the subway and made his way out, clutching his bag and travel mug close to his chest. His ears ached from the cold and he tried not to shiver; his coat was thick enough, but just the sight of so much snow on the street and the puffs of breath around him made him feel cold. A night’s sleep had done him no good. He had dreamt of horns and horses, some kind of impromptu medieval hunt that he neither understood nor wanted but was trapped in. Makeup had only slightly helped; he thanked the gods of New York that had mandated huge sunglasses for the season.

 

He fought his way out of the 66th Street Station and tried not to waddle as his feet crunched down in fresh snow. Around him dancers waddled like ungainly ducklings in the snow, legs much more heavily clad than their torsos. He found it funny the first year, and it had only morphed into profound understanding since – he wished that he could fit a second pair of leggings underneath his jeans, but the thin, ultra-sheer thermal leggings from Canada would have to do. He stuck his head out of his thick hood precisely an inch, trying to decide which way snow drifted less, and was nearly run over when he turned his head.

 

“Shit, sorry!” came a deep voice from a guy that towered almost a hand above him. He was so slim that it seemed the snow supported him somehow, but the hand that stretched to keep him straight was strong and firm even through the gloves, and he had no problem counterbalancing his weight. “I should have watched where I went. Are you ok?”

 

Seungkwan tried not to stare. The guy had silvery hair that fluffed everywhere, unrestrained by beanie or hood or scarf, and he was _beautiful_. “Yeah… uh, I’m okay, thank you. I’m sorry. It’s the snow.”

 

Without a second thought the stranger linked his arm with Seungkwan’s and propelled the two of them forward and across the slippery street. “Why? The snowfall is happy, don’t you think? All these snowflakes building on each other, like a million little comrades-in-arms. Each time one falls, it rubs its cheek against another one’s back, like children trying to learn how to hug.”

 

His steps were so long, almost like a stork’s, but it seemed effortless to keep up with him if only because Seungkwan’s mind quaked under the strange thought. His heavy boot touched the sidewalk on the other side, found a firm step, carved a place for him to stand all without his body considering the movements or the sleety wind. “I…”

 

“Oh look!” the stranger said. “We’re here… Jiminie! Yoohoo, Jiminie!” He stuck his hand in the air to wave at someone standing on the steps. Three someones standing on the steps, for that matter, and when he looked in that direction he nearly stumbled and fell flat on his face. One was as beautiful as the creature that had hauled him to this side of the road, one had the kind of tip-tilted gaze that tigers would be envious of, and one of them, the tallest…

 

Amber and moss, patterns like rainbow snakes down naked arms. A furnace-hot body behind him. The food of idle daydreams and frustrated fantasies. Even at fifty paces the man’s eyes had the power to make him feel weak, and he panicked. “Thanks for helping me across the street!” he said urgently to the stranger at his side, pulling his arm free. “Thank you, very friendly of you, but I have to go now!”

 

He attained freedom and fled towards one of the alternate entrances, leaving the four of them to stare at his back. He didn’t look back himself, only too discomforted. Somehow, for some reason, high hunting horns played in his mind as he barged into the glass door, suddenly ludicrously out of breath. Pinching his eyes shut at the sudden blast of warmer air, he stamped snow off and scuttled off towards his first vocal lesson and counted having to traverse the entire building a small price to pay for escaping those eyes.

 

* * *

 

 

The glass door closed distantly behind the boy with the brown hair. Taehyung watched it close carefully before he turned to the three men on the steps, eyebrows arching. “I get the feeling there’s a story I don’t know,” he said very mildly, sticking his hands in his pockets. “I don’t appreciate not knowing all the stories.” He turned his head to the man with the heterochromic eyes. “Why did the innocent flee as if all the devils in Hell were after him when he laid eyes on you?”

 

The man didn’t reply, merely directed his gaze down towards Taehyung’s feet. Veiled from mundane sight, Taehyung’s toes were blissfully pink even as he stood on freezing paving stones with snow melting around his ankles. Frowning, he tilted his head a little at the henna patterns painted on them.

 

Jimin gave a long-suffering sigh as Taehyung shifted his attention and _looked_ at him. “Can we go inside? Not all of us have the ability to waltz along the snow like fucking Legolas.” His voice was sulky, with a whining pout veiling deep affection. “You’re making the rest of us look bad, Taehyungie.”After a moment’s pause, he nodded to the men at his side. “This is Kwon Soonyoung, he’s in my third-year class.”

 

The man gave Taehyung a squinty-eyed, adorable smile even as he walked backward up the stairs with seemingly no effort whatsoever. “Pleased to meet you!” he announced. “I’m Soonyoung Edward Kwon but my stage name is Hoshi!”

 

_Edward?!_

 

Taehyung was faintly impressed. He was literally as graceful as an elf, but he’d fall over his feet and brain himself if he tried to waltz backwards up the steps like that. “Likewise.” Following everyone inside took only a moment, and he conscientiously wiped his bare feet clean on the carpet before eyeing the last stranger. “But I still want to know why the very cute, very new boy nearly killed himself running from you. Are you a bad person?”

 

A serene look came his way, but there were hidden depths in the honey-and-moss-green gaze he so calmly bestowed.

 

“This is Hansol Vernon Chwe,” Jimin murmured. “He’s one of Yoongi _-hyung_ ’s protégées at Basement.” He paused. “DJ Seren.”

 

“Ah,” Taehyung murmured, clicking his tongue-ring against his teeth. “Bad hookup, I see.”

 

“We didn’t hook up.”

 

The guy’s voice was _low_ , as low as his. There was an energy to him as well, a carefully-veiled strength – but then most DJs were about the control and dominating the crowd. You weren’t very successful if you didn’t have it.

 

“Why don’t you have shoes on?” Kwon _Edward_ Soonyoung chipped in.

 

Taehyung shot him a vague look. “I don’t need them. Jiminie, I’ll meet you later on for the thing?”

 

Jimin blinked, then caught up. “Oh, that thing? Yeah… yeah, I’ll be at home at four.”

 

Taehyung’s smile sparkled as he sidestepped them and made for his backstage job. Behind him, he heard Jimin whisper ‘Edward? Where the fuck did that come from?’ to Tiger Eyes guy. Hansol, however, stared at his back until he turned away.

 

 _‘Oh,’_ the vain, vicious, devilishly Unseelie part of him rejoiced. _‘Oh, this is going to be fun.’_


	2. Chapter 2

Park Jimin dressed like the loveliest hobo ever seen, all leggings and soft, cuddly sweaters, so one might be mistaken in thinking that his apartment was either a student’s cramped dorm or an artsy studio somewhere chic. Taehyung, staring up at the façade of the building situated on the ‘Gold Coast’ of Greenwich’s 10th street, felt overwhelmed every time he looked at it. The Parks were old money back in South Korea, some kind of business situation, and Jimin’s father doted on his only son the way his art-positive, now-dead Fae wife would have wanted. Seven floors including a basement, the place was massive and was his favourite place in New York.

 

Park Jimin had had to talk for five seconds flat before he agreed to move in. It was on the ley that led to Central Park and the nexus of power there, it had plenty of space for an art studio for him, and more importantly it was filled with music and art and _freedom_ , and no one looked at him funny when he slouched around barefeet in pyjamas.

 

They were Gucci pyjamas, Jimin’s latest birthday gift to him.

 

He shuffled into the lobby of the single-occupant building and smiled at the unassuming young security guard sitting there. Derek looked as if life was grooming him to be an accountant. Derek also knew eleven styles of martial arts and was a crack shot, and fanatically loyal to the Park family’s only son.

 

“Hey,” he muttered softly, shuffling up to the desk and plunking a container of profiteroles down. “How’s the baby?”

 

Derek smiled at him, cast his eyes up to the heavens and groaned. “Still waking me up at night. You go on up ok? He’s just in. Thanks, Tae.”

 

Tae smiled absently and made his way to the ground-floor entrance, slipping inside and hearing the hermetically sealed door thud closed behind him before he took the lift to the third floor. The wood of the apartment felt buttery and whisper-soft underneath his feet as he made for the living room. “Jiminie?” he called out, obligingly changing course when his friend called out of one of the smaller bedrooms.

 

He entered and paused to admire his friend. Jimin had stripped down to his underwear already, revealing a strong back, muscle-toned chest and stomach, and legs that Tae would have killed to have. He paused in the doorway to look at him, then sighed and slumped sideways against the lintel. “What does that dried-up old stick have that I don’t?” he complained. “Seriously, Jiminie, you should be interested in me. We could make wonderful porn together.”

 

Jimin gave a remarkably easy snort-cackle and plucked the legs on his boxer briefs down. “Weird child,” he muttered. “Come on, you said you wanted a canvas for tonight’s party, right?”

 

Taehyung’s interest slipped over to the academic and he went to run his hand along Jimin’s back, then legs. Smooth, like a baby. Primped and moisturised and the perfect canvas. He measured out portions with his hands, saw a vision in his mind that shorted his breath, and sighed out slowly, softly. “I want to make you a fish for tonight. A fish-man, strange and lovely and wonderful,” he murmured. His hand slipped up over his friend’s curves before he held his hand and tugged him away. “Come on.”

 

Some practiced their art on canvases and buildings, ranging from misty, impressionistic landscapes of the city to serious statement pieces on walls. That had never interested him. The human body interested him in all its myriad glory. The angles he could achieve, the sheer, shocking scope of it that crossed from body painting into portraiture into breathing, living art. He practised his art sparingly but with lush dedication. It only came out in the darkest of circumstances, when the beat was heavy and the UV lights glaring, when the music dragged you into its drugging rhythm. His artwork pulsed with each movement of the dancer and it was all about his vision. Statement pieces by Neon was as coveted as pieces by Banksy in their way; the fact that no one knew it came from his mind made it even better.

 

Jimin, his beloved Jiminie, was his favourite canvas. He carried himself proudly in the clubs they went to, baring his skin to showcase Taehyung’s visions. He had once confessed it made things easier for him as well; he wasn’t exactly _shy_ but it made him feel better about his body as if he wore a mask.

 

Leading Jimin into his studio, he turned to his paints and pulled out his UV palettes. “So how is the dried-up old stick doing?” he asked curiously. “Still thinking he’s too old for you?”

 

Jimin scoffed and reached for the primer, smearing it on his limbs in slow, even strokes. It was a special mix Taehyung created from cosmetics the FDA would never approve of, least of all because they couldn’t identify the magic in it. The rest of it, created from a little of his breath, a lot of power from the moon and the dark spaces around it, and galls from Central Park’s hidden stretches, did nothing but leave the skin smooth afterwards, if with a tendency to glitter as if too much body shimmer had been applied.

 

“He’s being _ridiculous_ ,” Jimin complained. “He looks at me with those bedroom eyes of his and I can tell by now when a man’s interested, ok? But then he’s like every goddamn cliché vampire movie out there despairing about his ‘eternal age’ and it makes me angry enough to shit a brick. I wouldn’t have minded if it led to angry fucking, but it’s getting ridiculous. Can’t you speak to your brother and see what he can do?”

 

Taehyung pursed his lips and thought of his ‘brother’. Kim Seokjin only shared a name with him, not actual blood, but the ultra-gorgeous Prince of the Camarilla in the city had claimed him fifteen seconds after seeing him, and they had had an unusual relationship ever since. Jin understood the dark spaces that the Unseelie part of him rejoiced in, understood the eternal struggle that kept him to being moody and away from dancing with entrails hanging around him. In his own way he protected Taehyung like the little brother he claimed him as.

 

Kim Seokjin was _also_ one of Yoongi’s oldest friends, though no one would think so after meeting them for the first time. He was the silent partner in the Basement; as a vampire Yoongi had had to get his permission to nest in New York and start a business, so it was plausible that he could put in a good word for Jimin. Nevertheless…

 

He began painting the outlines of the artwork he wanted on Jimin’s back, just fine sketched lines for now. “You know I would,” he said thoughtfully. “But then you’d not have the pleasure of wearing him down.” His fingers lifted to trace along the shell of one ear, pinching the lobe fondly. “I’ll make you beautiful tonight and we’ll go wipe his face in it. Is he spinning tonight?”

 

“No, it’s the new kid he’s been talking about. DJ Seagull.” Jimin shivered at the touch, tilted his head to the side. “Hansol introduced him to Yoongi _-hyung_. Werewolf.”

 

Taehyung frowned as he sketched out muscle fibres. “Tell me he’s an omega.”

 

Jimin flexed, threw the muscles in his back in relief as he bent forward for the cool, slick tickle of the kohl eyeliner. “You know what DJs are like,” he mumbled face-down. “They all get off on dominating the crowd. There’s not a chance in the hot hells that he’s an omega.”

 

“Yeah, speaking of werewolves, what was up with that little puppy today?” Taehyung asked curiously. “The one with the mismatched eyes? And his friend?”

 

Jimin sighed deeply. “Soonie’s an idiot,” he said fondly. “He’s a clown, he loves to make people laugh, and they look at his baby face and forget he can literally claw someone’s face off. I’ve not really asked, but he’s a were-cat of some sort. He can dance like a demon. Hansol-ah… I don’t know him that well, just enough to know he’s a were as well, but he’s bad news, Taehyungie. Not like Soonie at all. Withdrawn and cool and he wears his halfer status like a shield. Getting him to talk is like extracting teeth from a chicken. His pride over in Seoul kicked him out because he wishboned the leader, so he came back to his mother’s country. Talk is he literally took the man by each ankle and ripped him in half.”

 

“He knows that if he hurts you there’ll be some trouble? I’ll gut him and if I have difficulties I’ll put Mingyu on his case.”

 

“Taehyungie,” Jimin sighed. “I might be all Light Court but that doesn’t mean I won’t protect myself. Don’t worry, okay? Come on, turn me into a fish so I can go and get laid by Little Meow Meow.”

 

Taehyung, lips twitching, pondered the insanity of referring to the second-strongest vampire in New York as ‘Little Meow Meow’, and resolved to call him nothing else. “Fine, fine, I…”

 

Their head snapped to the window as the sound of a hunting horn tickled across senses no mundane had. A shiver crawled down Tae’s back and he saw an answering ripple from Jimin. “Hobi _-hyung_ is back,” he said softly, steadying himself on Jimin’s shoulder. “That means the Hunt is back as well. I thought people learnt after the last time some idiot warlock tried to summon up a hot babe to sleep with and got Azazel. Remember that?”

 

Pieces of the warlock had been mailed to each warlock or witch in New York, tastefully so in a black box with a sprig of rue under the silky black ribbon. Tae, who had been with Namjoon _-hyung_ when he got his, had simply looked at the rolling eyeball inside it and turned around to get sick. Namjoon _-hyung_ had laughed and laughed, a bitter sound that didn’t match his personality at all.

 

“Shit,” Jimin muttered. “Shit, shit, shit.”

 

* * *

 

Taehyung entered the Basement through the side staff entrance, meandering along in Jimin’s wake like a bodyguard trailing a royal of some sort. It wasn’t too far off, given Jimin’s status in the Fae courts, but his friend took it to new heights. He had skipped wearing normal clothes, claiming that he didn’t want to ruin his look, and strutted into the club clad in a pair of thin leggings Taehyung had painted over. He looked like a fish man, like an alien monster from some ridiculous water world from the tip of his ensorcelled hair to the shark-sharp teeth painted over his full lips.

 

It was iconic and alluring, and yet Taehyung didn’t have it in him to fall a little in love with his artwork as he normally did. The thoughts that Hobi _-hyung_ might be back in New York didn’t bode well for the city. Things had been so silent for months and now this. Now…

 

His steps faltered as the sound of hunting horns ran through his mind, not from hearing them but remembering them; where had he come across them lately?

 

His stumble carried him the last few steps into the staff rooms behind the main club; as he caught himself on the lintel he cursed his conflicting heritages for making him clumsy _now_ of all times.

 

“What the fuck?”

 

The voice didn’t belong to Little Meow Meow or the man Taehyung had met earlier. It was a little higher but no less forceful; when he looked up to identify the owner he felt his heart squeeze in two. Tall, taller than Jiminie and almost as tall as himself, with dark messy hair raked open over a wonderful forehead, a face that suggested a bunny ever so slightly and a body that looked as if it worked out religiously. Like this, with his shirt halfway on and halfway off as he changed clothes, Taehyung could see the faint shadows of tattoos swirling up his arms and chest, and suddenly he ached to make them better.

 

“DJ Seagull?” Jimin asked doubtfully. “Yoongi _-hyung_ ’s new protégé? Are you even old enough to drink legally at a club, kid?”

 

The guy yanked his shirt down and gave them both a scathing look. “This is a _staff area._ You can’t just come in here for fucking kicks, you midget, even if you have a pretty banging paintjob. Get out before I throw you out!”

 

Even Taehyung knew it was precisely the wrong thing to say. Jimin was a little touchy about his height; some days it didn’t matter that power practically oozed out of his pores as long as someone even hinted he might be short. It was almost short man syndrome. He watched his friend bristle at Hotness, spotted the amusement in Chwe Hansol’s heterochromic gaze, and pushed off to stop Jimin from kicking his prey in the ankle.

 

“Jungkook-ah.” The voice did little more than ripple out of a dark corner, but Taehyung heard the ‘Down boy’ in it as Yoongi stepped from the shadows.

 

It was as if a light switch flicked in Jimin. “Yoongi _-hyung_!” he called happily, abandoning his pique to mosey over to Yoongi’s side. As the elder mumbled a greeting he draped arms across his shoulders and stuck his tongue out at Jungkook from behind his boss.

 

“Everyone is legal,” Yoongi said tiredly. “Jiminie, Taehyung-ah, this is Jeon Jungkook. You’ve met Hansol-ah?”

 

“We’ve met,” Hansol murmured, sliding on a pair of blue earphones to sink into his own world.

 

Jungkook snorted before his gaze transferred to Taehyung. The irritation smoothed from his features, but his stare remained as forceful and his forehead crinkled a little. Rather ironically his ears coloured as well, turning a soft pink at Taehyung’s slow smile. “Hi,” he muttered. “Sorry.”

 

“Jungkookie,” Tae murmured. “I like that. I’ll call you that.”

 

Jungkook’s ears coloured even more. “Whatever, I gotta start my set,” he muttered as he stomped from the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * A picture of Jimin's look can be seen [here](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/9a/04/e3/9a04e3bf3570113a406a34bd1d27592f.jpg). 
> 



	3. Chapter 3

Jin carefully wiped at the corners of his lips, adjusting his collar with a small, fussy gesture as his meal walked carefully out the door. He considered the blood lingering on the back of his palate and fought not to frown. For all the trouble his personal assistant had had to source a willing individual with RHNull blood in America, it still tasted common and crass; bland, almost, with none of the variety he normally preferred. “Marie,” he dictated to the AI that ran the tower. “Please convey to Donghyun that I will not be needing any more from that particular type of donor.”

 

“As you wish, my Prince,” the mellifluous female voice said. “Your next appointment is in an hour…”

 

“Thank you, acknowledged,” Jin said as he crossed to the nearest mirror to straighten his suit with little gestures. Donghyun kept his schedule like others bred show animals, both highly regimented and painstakingly meticulous.

 

A whisper on the balcony caught his attention. It was a soft, slow sound, a caress of material on worked stone but there was a timbre to it that he knew of old. It announced the presence louder than a voice could have, and for a moment confusion ran through him. The gesture was made from politeness but now? Here?

 

He wandered to the open French doors onto the balcony without the fear that he might be mistaken. No intrepid thief would dare attack him this high up and his reputation kept most of the supernatural ones at bay. No, the only person that would have… coming to a halt, he canted his head to the side and smiled at the slim, strong figure sitting insouciantly on the balcony’s edge. He spent a moment looking at him, just taking in the length of him before wandering closer. “Hobi,” he murmured, and tilted his cheek for a cool kiss. “I thought you were going to be out of town for longer. That business in the Schwarzwald?”

 

Jung Hoseok returned his small smile with a wider, beaming one, flashing excellent teeth. No one quite knew what he was beyond the leader of the Wild Hunt, though Seokjin’s own opinion ran strongly to a version of Fae. This face, this body, as dancer-strong and wonderful as it was, was a mere glamour over the larger reality of the blessed man. The gods’ toy but so powerful with it, a power that rivalled his own in certain ways. It was said that only his people knew the reality of him behind the mask, and that it was the litmus test for being in the Hunt. If you could understand the leader’s being, survive it, then you were in.

 

“Hyung,” Hoseok said smoothly as he slipped off the balcony. His fingertips quested, found the silky lapel of Jin’s dinner jacket, and tangled in it. “You know I go where business calls me. You look good, as handsome as ever.”

 

“Hobi,” Jin said, smiling despite his frustration. “Why are you here? We always have trouble when you’re in my city.”

 

Hobi gave a step closer and leant into him. Very slowly, very softly his lips found Seokjin’s jawline, travelling up it as he inhaled. “Hmmmm.” The sound was a deep, dark purr. “You smell of growing things and life, hyung, have you been feeding on Namjoon again?”

 

Seokjin inhaled shakily as the Leader of the Hunt delicately bit at his earlobe, body surrendering its position as Hobi slowly crowded him back, all the way back, until his hips found the stone railing and he was caged in. It was a thrill, very few people were strong enough to do that to him even if he felt like allowing it. “He’s still angry at you, you know,” he murmured as his eyes closed at the shiver of pleasure-pain that ran down his spine. “It’ll be difficult to convince him to take you back into his bed.”

 

Hoseok pulled away, eyes night-dark with the creature inside him swimming close to his glamour’s limits. “No,” he murmured softly, hands lifting from the railing to settle on Jin’s hips. There was a bite to his fingers, but innate sweetness as well. “No, it won’t.”

 

 _No_ , Jin was forced to agree shakily in his mind as the hands persuaded him around, pointed him into the direction of his dining room. _Holy shit, no, it won’t. We’re both too weak for you, Hobi._

 

Hoseok smiled as if he could hear that thought, just a self-assured curving of his mouth. “Hyung,” he said out of the blue. “Hyung, I’m going to have to borrow some money from you. You won’t mind, do you?”

 

Jin fought to keep up. “What? I… no, I don’t…”

 

 “Because I’m sure I’m going to get a parking ticket, hyung, you look that fine.”

 

 Time slowed to a golden moment as Seokjin blinked, tried to internalise that. He heard the crash of expensive plates as he started laughing, mirth curling up from deep inside his being. His back thumped against the cleared table and his jacket was off his shoulders before he could stop laughing at the ludicrous pickup line, the sheer cheerful insanity it had been delivered with. “Hobi, oh my fucking god…”

 

“That’s better, hyung,” Hobi soothed, looking proud at the effect of his hideous pickup line. “You’ve got the best mouth in the world, you should laugh with it more often.” His hands lowered to Jin’s belt, tugging it open with a few practised moves.

 

“Hobi, oh my god,” Jin groaned, still trapped between laughter and the slow, cascading increase of lust pooling through his body as the talented hands slipped his shoes, socks and pants off. “Why are you here?”

 

Hobi paused to give him a cool look before his eyes travelled down Seokjin’s body, large hands parting his thighs after slipping his underwear down. “Beyond the obvious? I had a vision,” he admitted. “Out towards Montauk Point. Someone’s been messing around with ritual magic. There are bodies in the sand, buried deep, but the gods can hear their calls for revenge.”

 

Jin shuddered, unsure whether it was from fear or sheer lust at the fingertips caressing up and down his knees to open his legs wider. “Not one of my people,” he begged. “Please tell me it’s not one of my people being that stupid.”

 

Leaning in to press a delicate kiss against one long, milky thigh, Hobi smiled slowly. “I don’t know yet,” he admitted easily. “Quiet. Let me admire you.”

 

There were very few people that Kim Seokjin would entertain even a request from, and it knotted something in his belly that this wasn’t a request, but a demand. He sucked in a breath as the first nipping bite came high on his thigh; when fangs manifested in an otherwise human mouth and sank into the meat of his thigh he shouted with the sudden savage pleasure of it. Hobi didn’t have to bite, Hobi bit because Seokjin liked it, liked the feeling of his potent, precious blood staining his thighs red.

 

His head thumped back against the ebonywood table and he saw gold behind his fluttering eyelids: one bite turned to two, then a generous scattering. His cock hardened further with each sucking sound, each pained slide of Hobi’s incisors into his flesh, until it thumped rock-hard and potent against his dress shirt, ruining the material as it began to weep glossy, thick liquid onto his belly. His hands lashed out to grab at the sides of the table, claws scratching it up as he tried to restrain his voice.

 

Hobi reared over him, mouth stained ruby with his blood, hands strong and dominant on Jin’s spasming thighs. “Hyung,” he crooned as he smiled, licking his teeth clean with insouciant glee. “Have you ever seen a proud animal submit to its trainer’s hands?” His thumbs pressed into Jin’s flesh hard, hard enough to have bruised had he still been susceptible to them. One thigh got hauled up so that he could kiss the spot his thumb savaged. “How long has it been since you submitted? You’re being so feisty and loud tonight.”

 

Jin couldn’t think, could barely even summon up enough concentration to pretend to breathe. His thigh was riddled with tiny bites, messing up their perfection as far as he could see. No one would mistake the bites as anything but an intimate injury. Still, his pride stung, and it fucked him off that it got him even higher. “I’m not one of your lackeys,” he grunted, rearing up to fight back, to twist Hobi underneath himself instead. “I’m not Namjoon, sweetly raising his hips for you, fuck you…”

 

The air blurred, grew thick and golden like memory as Hobi’s hands tightened on him and slammed him over and around, barely giving him enough space not to crush his ludicrously hard cock into the unforgiving table. He heard the shearing of material, felt one hand collect his wrists in the small of his back and shouted as the savage behind him yanked his hips to the edge of the table. Seconds later teeth sunk into the smooth curve of one cheek. There was no more time left; if it hadn’t been for the spell muttered against his flesh he would have been dry and raw. Instead, it was a ludicrously slick glide into him until Hobi pinned him in place with hands and cock.

 

The penthouse rang with his voice as he was conquered, filled again, fucked with no mercy until every inch of him spasmed; if it hadn’t been for the wards on the place the whole tower would have heard him submit to the Beast of the End Days joyfully, eagerly and loudly.

 

* * *

 

Seungkwan was unsure why he had returned to the club. He was in the Columbia-Juilliard program, he had beaten out over two thousand other applicants for the honour and the course requirements were steep, so it wasn’t as if he didn’t have work to do. Instead, he had looked at the pile tonight, tugged on the leather pants and silky shirt that his roommate had declared apex twink, and had sat down to get his makeup done, all because of a memory.

 

 “Fuck it,” he mumbled, squeezing in past the snogging couples and heading towards the bar. He hated how automatically he did it, but if there was any chance of surviving tonight with no complex about his looks when measured next to the models on display, he was going to need alcohol. Fetching up against the smooth black curve of it, he wiggled his phone out of his pocket and looked down the long length for a bartender.

 

Hot Fuckboy Waiter was on duty again tonight, but way over on the other side of the bar. Instead, sashaying towards him, came a guy to put all the other models to shame. He was tall, easily a head taller, clad in supple black and a shirt open almost to his breastbone. His sleeves were rolled back over his arms. The little bit of chest on show was taken up by some kind of wild fang necklace. It looked much less cliché than it should, even with the excellent smile beaming at him from the model’s face.

 

 “Hey, what’ll it be?” He put his hands on the bar and leant in; Seungkwan blamed it on his tired mind when he momentarily saw a fanged monster’s reflection instead of the hot bartender.

 

 “I… I don’t know,” he said hesitantly. “The other guy gave me something and a jagerbomb last time. Hard and sour, it kicked like a mule.”

 

 “Oya?” the hottie asked, leaning in further, and his smile grew more playful. “Wonwoo-hyung is a dangerous man to take drinks from, bogsunga. Are you sure you want to try that experience again?”

 

Seungkwan blinked, unsure whether he wanted to tell the guy off for calling him a peach, for being impressed at his Korean accent, or for the full-bore flirting. “…what?” he tried.

 

An elegant, long-fingered hand reached to poke in the middle of one of his cheeks, causing him to flinch back a second too late. Skin touched skin and his face glowed. It felt as if a kiss glimmered there, though the stranger’s lips hadn’t come anywhere near him. “Tequila and a jagerbomb for the cutie, coming right up.”

 

Seungkwan flushed beetroot-red. His mind stuttered to another topic as he flailed for a secure footing. “Um, the guy that was a DJ that night…”

 

Though the guy worked at pouring, his dark gaze lifted to Seungkwan’s and he smiled in that glimmering, pearly way. “Which one?” he asked idly as his hands switched between tequila and snapping open a can of Red Bull. “Like Goldilocks you have three to choose from, so be careful if you want the right porridge.”

 

A chuckle ripped from Seungkwan, startling him with its presence, but there was so much about the bartender that was hilarious that he felt overwhelmed. “Daddy bear, Mommy bear and Baby bear?” he questioned snarkily, feeling the absurdity of the moment tickle his confusion and fear away. “The one with the rainbow snakes on his arms. The one…” He stared as the tall, beautiful man tilted his head; again he saw that toothed horror reflected in the bar. It was smiling at him, exactly like the man in front of him was smiling at him, and he looked up in horror.

 

“There, there,” the beautiful man whispered. “Your drinks are ready.”

 

“Mingyu, I need help over here!” ‘Wonwoo-hyung’ called from the other side of the bar. “Bring me an extra bottle of Jack!”

 

Seungkwan wanted to scream and run but the crowd pushed him against the bar, trapping him against its smooth curve. Shuddering, he lifted his phone to pay and felt something clink-clink-clink out of his palm, skittering to a halt next to his left hand. One tooth, pale and perfect and longer than he had ever seen before, pointed like a vampire’s would have been. He scooped it up, slammed back his drinks and fought to get free of the bar, mind spinning with what he had seen.


	4. Chapter 4

Yoon Jeonghan stood at the edge of the Montauk Point surf with his toes dug into the sand. This late at night the sea was little more than an ambient roar edged with phosphorescence. It would have been nice if he had been here alone, curled up above the leap tide line and slumbering in the grip of the universe turning.

 

On his left Minghao stood to guard his person. On his right, Kim Namjoon, an ancient druid bound up in a youthful body. Both looked as if they wished to be elsewhere, especially the druid. Namjoon looked tired and bitter in the soft golden glow sifting from his person. Unhappy certainly, with a tiny frown indenting his broad forehead and his jaw jutting out.

 

He didn't need to look over his shoulder to sense the last two people. One, a shifting blot of black and gold against his senses, wore the MAP uniform with pride on a compact, strong body. Strong thighs, direct eyes that was trying to stare a hole in the sand at his feet at the corpses that lay buried there six and more feet beneath them. The other...

 

 _The other._ Jeonghan wasn’t quite sure what was going on, but Minghao had shot him one look as his hand tightened on his spear haft until he could practically hear the bones grind together. No so the vampire though. No, Wen Junhui stood still and slim and perfect next to the Wild Hunt member, hands behind his back as if he were prepared to wait an eternity.

 

Jeonghan's mind turned over with a tired huff. Wen Junhui was a vampire, of _course_ he had an eternity. Turning to shuffle sideways, he made his way to his side as much to get his energy away from Namjoon as curiosity. "So," he said as he arrived, hunkering down in the sand. "The Fae King and the Druid of the Park showed up, but not the Prince of the city?" His lips twisted into a puckish smile. "What could be keeping him, I wonder. And I note that Jung Hoseok-ssi isn't here either. I feel slighted."

 

The MAP member - Chang? Chan? - shot him a sideways glance through ludicrously long eyelashes, distant light flashing before he got control of his eyes and shifted them back to normal. "Hyung is busy," he said mildly but devilishly. "Something came up."

 

Jeonghan rounded his eyes. "Really?" he asked, making his voice all astonishment. "And your boss, Wen Junhui-ssi? Did something come up there as well?"

 

It was such a small twitch, really, but it was there, a curve along his beautiful mouth.

 

"Stop talking," Namjoon muttered from his position. "I can't hear."

 

 _Bullshit_ , Jeonghan thought. _You don't use your ears for this._ Still, he understood. The tumultuous relationship between Kim Seokjin and Kim Namjoon was the gossip of his court, beyond the merry chase the teddy-bear vampire was leading their little Jimin-ah. A triangle might be one of the strongest shapes in nature, but not so in relationships: Kim Namjoon and Kim Seokjin and Jung Hoseok represented a terrible Gordian Knot of possibilities and emotion.

 

He felt Namjoon's power slowly penetrate the ground, saw him frown, saw the precise moment that the power contacted what was buried beneath the sands and went awry. It was just a flicker, a surprised ‘oya?’ that alleviated the thin frown, but the consequences were disastrous.

 

The ground rumbled and exploded in their faces as corpses started bursting out of the soil; Minghao dove him flat towards an open spot and he landed hard enough to bruise, with sand coating his impeccable hair and a curse on his lips. As his knight spun away to defend him, he spotted Wen Junhui and the Wild Hunt kid grappling with the risen corpses; off towards the waves Namjoon tangled with them as well.

 

Cursing, he scrambled to his feet and manifested a sword in his hand, hacking and chopping and cleaving to get through to the druid. No matter how much Namjoon's relationship issues might amuse him, the druid was one of few men he tolerated with equanimity. "Minghao-ah!" he roared. "Help the others!"

 

He didn't look behind him again, but the sudden terrible howl of a hell-hound suggested that the kid had changed over just as he reached the first of the animated corpses. He grieved to see pointed ears on it even as a cleave chopped it open from neck to hip, energy exploding to return it to dust. Corpse after corpse, until he stood back to back with his friend.

 

Another howl from the Wild Hunt hell-hound, and this time it was filled with pain as a dead werewolf got close enough to kick his side. The claws raked open long wounds across his ribs.

 

"You have to retreat!" Namjoon shouted. "I have sacred ash, but it'll bind you as well! I..."

 

Jeonghan, warned by a terrible premonition, turned and gestured.

 

The ocean snarled as it answered his power over Nature, funnelling into a thin lasso to pick the druid up into the air. A black form erupted from the spot he had stood in, dust sifting from tattered black robes. It rushed him so quickly he had barely enough time to straighten his blade-arm before a mouth latched into his neck.

 

The piercing pleasure of two fangs sliding into his neck came as the vampire latched on. His lasso of water disappeared in the fell rush, dumping a very wet Namjoon back on the ground and the handful of ash he was about to cast over the area became a tainted, soggy mess.

 

"No!" Minghao roared and struggled to his king.

 

The night darkened under a terrible scream that came from the city. It lasted and lasted, tore the air to shreds and exploded the corpses off them into fine dust. For a moment they were trapped between death and life, a grey nothingness that took all his senses away. He still felt deaf when it stopped, then weak, falling to sit in the sands with his arms around a slim figure in ragged black robes.

 

"Where am I?" the man asked as he reared back, scuttling of Jeonghan with the Fae King's golden blood still smeared on his mouth. "Who are you? This isn't home...?"

 

"Namjoon- _hyung_!" Wen Junhui called, kneeling down at the hellhound's side. "We need a healer here!"

 

 _Shit_ , Jeonghan thought distantly. _What is this we've stumbled into?_

 

* * *

 

The music was ironically delicate, Seungkwan felt. Dancing in the midst of the crowd he could barely keep his eyes open, but they were fixed on the DJ station anyway. He didn’t know the guy there tonight; though he was as tall and muscled as the man with the heterochromic eyes his baby face wasn’t the same at all, nor the thunderous frown he had on his face. None of his irritation showed in the music, which rippled over him and down his spine even as the heavy beat thump-thumped to ground him to the feeling of bodies around him.

 

He didn’t see the hand that came for him, but he wasn’t afraid to say that he screamed short and high exactly like a little girl. The paint on it made it look savage and _other_ ; the scales and outlined muscles glimmered like the costliest nacre. The face that popped up looked so much like an alien fish that he shrieked again and tried to pull back. It wasn’t until the next pulse of light that he saw the face shape underneath it, the way that pearly teeth glittered puckishly in its mouth.

 

Behind him, like a super-soft, super-sensuous ghost in that smoky eyeliner, was the man that nearly ran him over outside Julliard, and he was smiling too, boxy and bright.

 

“Come on!” the front one – the dancer on the steps? – shouted, and pulled him towards the VIP room entrance.

 

The bouncers there didn’t even look at them, just motioned them through as they unhooked the bar across the entrance. Seungkwan was pulled up up up the staircase to a small lounge with speakers piping the music in at a more muted volume. There was a thin, compact little man curled up in the corner couch, but he paid them no attention as he scrolled through a feed on his phone.

 

“Hi!” the fish-man said happily, turning to grab both of Seungkwan’s hands to swing them. “You look fantastic!”

 

“Uh…” Seungkwan struggled. “You too?” It was the truth. Even in the dim light the man _glowed_ , sheer golden perfection under the admittedly impressive paint job. “Wow, that’s some body paint you’ve got going there. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

 

“Thanks,” the taller man said, boxy smile spreading even wider. “I’m sorry again for the other day.”

 

Seungkwan blinked. “You did this? Wow, this is fantastic, can I take a picture?”

 

“After introductions,” the fish-man pouted. “So, I’m Park Jimin, pleased to meet you! This is Kim Taehyung, I don’t know if you remember…”

 

Taehyung shook his head. “We didn’t even get to introductions last time, someone just cut and ran.”

 

Feeling his cheeks colour under the thin layer of BB cream he had on, Seungkwan wrinkled his nose and looked away shyly. “I’m sorry. And sorry for screaming. It was just a shock.”

 

“He likes it when people scream for him,” Taehyung said with a dry tone and straight face. “Right, Yoongi- _hyung_?”

 

Seungkwan, feeling mortified at the implication, watched wide-eyed as Jimin squeaked and turned to smack Taehyung. His gaze flicked to the small guy in the corner couch; when he found him looking at them with night-dark eyes, he flushed and looked away hurriedly. “Um, the photo… excuse me?”

 

There was a hand on his chin that pulled his face around so that black eyes could focus on his. ‘Yoongi- _hyung_ ’ wasn’t holding on very hard, but he entertained no misconceptions about being able to get away from that hold. For a moment his mind struggled with the fact that he hadn’t even seen him move. Deep in his pocket the odd tooth that the creepy hot bartender had given him stung him briefly as he shifted, and he winced at the prick of pain. Creeped out – this place was as eerie as it was nice – he managed to jerk his chin free and gave a step back.

 

“Yoongi- _hyung_?” Park Jimin asked, sounding worried. He reached a painted hand to settle on the slim man’s shoulder as Taehyung inhaled, mouth and nose, as if he smelled something none of the rest of them could smell.

 

The slim man frowned. “Look at his eyes,” he said in a deeper voice than Seungkwan had expected. “All the way in, Jiminie. I…”

 

Seungkwan’s mind felt as if something was squeezing it. He was badly frightened now, giving another step back as Taehyung held up an arm in front of him.

 

“Don’t, Jimin-ah,” Taehyung said. “Not unless you have a few teeth to spare. He has a token from Mingyu- _hyung_ on him.” Holding up that self-same hand, he turned to Seungkwan, stretching it out but not touching him. He held it like you might to a skittish cat, letting it sniff before attempting to pet. “You should sit down, you’re turning pale. Just there on the couch, ok? Take a deep breath and just sit down.”

 

Feeling as if he might pass out, Seungkwan gave a last step back, fumbling and falling backwards as the back of his knees struck the couch. His hand lashed out, flailing for balance, and touched Taehyung’s fingertips. They were cool but steady, grabbing his hand firmly, and the smack of their palms coming together sounded like a boom-crack in his ears. Something jumped from Taehyung to him, something sweet and deadly like a poisoned rose, and suddenly he saw, he heard… the universe exploded into new definition.

 

The slim man that held Park Jimin was deathly pale with a vampire’s teeth in his mouth as he opened his mouth, and his eyes looked beyond tired. Bruised, darkened. Against him Park Jimin shone like a golden flower, beauty defying description even in the paint on his skin. He was luminous, golden light sifting from him like a sun. Seungkwan, terrified, shifted to look at Taehyung and inhaled. If Park Jimin was a golden flower, Kim Taehyung was moonlight over poisoned red petals, all the beauty of the light court mixed with the dark.

 

Something zipped up the staircase and his head whipped around. It was the fuckboy waiter from before, equally as pale, with fangs already descended and hissing. Behind him, the beautiful model somehow overlaid with the fanged monster from before.

 

The link between Taehyung and himself sparked, borne the pain of a distant boy to his ears, and he screamed.

 

For the first time in his life he Screamed, as if the universe was a cold grey place that filled him with the fear of his own death and the likelihood of another. The sound that came from his mouth belled out, pushing everything away with a blast of sound. His eyes pinched shut and he slid off the couch still screaming. He didn’t see the window burst, didn’t see the electricity short out; all he knew was the pain in his belly as a distant corpse gutted the boy he was tied to and he Screamed. Loud, louder, until the world’s grey went away in a black haze filled with the whispers of the dead.


	5. Chapter 5

Mingyu reacted before he thought: grabbing Wonwoo, he flung him down the staircase into the mosh pit below before he dove towards Yoongi. Jimin got there first, then Taehyung, and he piled on top of them to protect the undead from the banshee scream. It reverberated over and through his being, trying to find weakness, but it wasn’t really aimed at them. It exploded the window overlooking the main body of the club, tore the electronics to shreds and carried on and _on_ ; he thought it would never end, but it did quite abruptly as the human passed out from sheer effort.

 

It felt as if an eternity passed before his mind functioned again. Downstairs he heard the others work to calm the clubgoers, and soon the music thump-thumped again as the young pup at the DJ station stared them back into trance, as Wonwoo went around making those too resistant forget what they saw.

 

Beneath him, very softly, he heard a groan. When he scrambled off, Taehyung unfurled from Jimin’s body like a soft black cloth; beneath it Jimin shone with all the radiance of the Light court as he extended his aura to protect Yoongi from whatever had just happened.

 

He coughed, stood, and grimaced as four of the teeth on his necklace dusted into nothingness, sucked dry of the power they had contained. “It’s over,” he got out roughly, and turned to look down at the human. He had thought him pretty before, all round cheeks and pouty lips, but as he knelt at his side and picked him up gently he saw the parchment-pale skin and the blood lightly trickling from his nose. His hands felt clammy and cold, and when he checked on eye they were rolled back up, showing only white.

 

“Jiminie,” Taehyung whispered behind him. “Jiminie, it’s okay, you can stop now. He passed out.”

 

Jimin lifted his head crankily, pulling his too-potent aura in at the last before he rolled off Yoongi’s back and lay on the floor, staring tiredly up at the ceiling. “Fuck me sideways,” he muttered. “What the hell. Yoongi-hyung, what did you do to him?”

 

“It’s not what I did,” Yoongi said as he sat up, checked himself and got up to check the club as well.

 

Taehyung came to kneel next to Mingyu, one long-fingered hand slipping beneath Seungkwan’s neck to stop it from lolling back. “He was frightened,” he muttered. “I don’t think that he’s actually a mundane.”

 

Mingyu made a sound in the back of his throat. “I think he’s capable of seeing through glamours,” he murmured as he rolled Seungkwan into his arms, then stood. It was easier than it should have been, as if the young man had bird bones. “Perhaps that frightened him.”

 

Yoongi frowned. “Seokjin will want to see him,” he said. “If he can see even vampires, we’re all in danger.”

 

Mingyu watched as Jimin scrambled to his feet, standing against Yoongi for the first time he could remember.

 

“Any mundane with True Sight is the property of the Court, ceded to us by the Concordat of 1719, ratified by the Elders again in 1987 when performing final division of assets in New York,” Jimin quoted. “Sorry, hyung, but he’s ours.”

 

“He might not be,” Taehyung muttered from the side. “Depending on his source of power, the Circle here might have some claim on him as well.”

 

“Whichever it is,” Mingyu said, “he needs a healer and we need answers. As the Vampires do not have them, I’ll take him to the Park and we can see what’s what. We’re going to need the Packs there as well.”

 

Taehyung nodded. “You take him, I’ll speak to the Pack.” He grimaced. “And MAP, if he’s something other than human they’d be able to assist in telling us what.”

 

They looked unhappily at each other before Yoongi nodded unwillingly. Mingyu left, nodding to Wonwoo on the way over, and made for Central Park. Behind him, in a soft chorus almost smothered beneath the music, he heard the others start arguing again.

 

* * *

 

Central Park. It wasn’t Hansol’s favourite place in the city. During the day there were too many people around, and at night you either got criminals, the Fae or whatever the Druids had seen fit to set to guarding the paths. Still, he couldn’t deny there was a kind of beauty to it at night, especially as he crossed from The Ramble into the hidden areas of the park. Faerie lights flicked through and around the trees, illuminating both himself and his companion in their gentle glow.

 

“You got any idea what’s going on?” he muttered to Jungkook, who strode reluctantly at his side. If he had had a choice, they’d be at home playing a game; the man never went out if he could help it. Whatever had prompted him to fetch Hansol and drag him for an evening walk, it had to be monumental.

 

Jungkook shrugged, stuffing his hands deeper in his pockets. “Something went fucked up at the club tonight,” he muttered, casting his face to and fro to pick up an elusive scent. “MAP wanted to see all of us at the park. Said something about neutral grounds.”

 

Hansol’s lips thinned. He had come to New York to get away from supernatural trouble, not closer to it. “Not even through Chris-hyung?” he muttered.

 

Jungkook cast him an irritated look. “I don’t fucking know, dude. I’m just not gonna tell the Wild Hunt to piss off.”

 

Leaving well enough alone, Hansol wandered quietly until they came to the edge of a large clearing. There were lights up around it and little glowing Fae sported through the branches of the larges oak tree he had ever seen. It was so large that he didn’t know how the Druids kept it from sight, and its branches were heavy and wide and drooping, covering nearly thirty feet in each direction from the massive trunk.

 

Arrayed under it, the Fae courts, the Camarilla and the Druids; no sight of Chris-hyung or the rest of the were pack, though Soonyoung-hyung was already there and waved them over as soon as their scent carried to him. Right in the middle, supported on what looked like a particularly thick branch, was a comatose figure. It looked vaguely familiar, but he ignored it as he moseyed over.

 

_Come to think of it, when last did I see the pack?_

 

The answer was fuzzy in his mind; he had never been close to them, more a loner than anything else. He sunk down at Soonyoung’s side and muttered a greeting before looking at the rest of the gathered figures. There was a shadowy spot where the Wild Hunt waited, but most of the tension was right in the middle between four figures: three he knew of and one he did not. Judging by their expressions, no one was very happy at all.

 

“Hyung,” he muttered softly to Soonyoung. “What’s going on?”

 

“There was an attack of sorts,” Soonyoung muttered back sotto voce. “The Fae King and one of the Wild Hunt had been hurt when they scouted somewhere, but something rescued them. I only had a moment to chat with Chan whilst the Fae were healing him, but it has to do with that man passed out on the tree root.”

 

On Soonyoung’s other side Jungkook’s eyes widened. “I wonder if that’s what happened at the club? There was an ungodly screeching and the one bartender carried someone out all hush hush. He was with this tiny golden prick and a hot guy that seemed to know Yoongi-hyung…”

 

“Oh, the ones before I left?” At Jungkook’s nod Hansol grimaced. “Park Jimin and Kim Taehyung, _hyung_ ,” he informed Soonyoung. “They came in just before the ten PM set.”

 

Soonyoung’s mouth relaxed into a smile. “I take it you didn’t get along too well with Jimin- _hyung_ , Jungkookie?” he muttered. “Careful, he’s a Prince of the Light Court. A great deal more than a tiny golden prick.”

 

Jungkook opened his mouth, but shut up as an irritated voice came from the men talking in the middle. “Where is Chris in any case?”

 

Soonyoung sighed and stood, wandering closer. “Wolf-pack bonding,” he said to the man that asked. “It’s just myself and the two newbies in the city at the moment. What do you need?”

 

 _Is that it?_ Hansol wondered, feeling faintly uneasy. _Are they off on pack bonding?_

 

He shook his head to clear it, ignoring the confusion.

 

“Who’s your best nose?”

 

Soonyoung-hyung considered the man, looked back over his shoulder to the two of them and arched an eyebrow.

 

“Not me,” Jungkook muttered. “I can barely smell paint peeling from a barn door.”

 

Rolling his eyes, Hansol stood and wandered closer, letting the currents of power wash over him as he slipped up to Soonyoung- _hyung_ ’s side and looked enquiringly at the man. This close it was easy to feel the strange otherness of him, the zing of god-touched power.

 

“Hansol-ah,” Soonyoung murmured. “This is the leader of the Hunt, Jung Hoseok-ssi. Hoseok-ssi, Chwe Hansol. I’d trust a wolf nose over myself.”

 

“How good are you?” Jung Hoseok asked him bluntly.

 

Hansol considered him, then half-lidded his eyes, inhaling softly. He took time to sort out the tapestry of scents in his mind: the old musky vanilla of the vampires, the Druid with his hands smelling like fatty ash and green things, the ozone-bright spark of whatever the man was, overlaid with… with…

 

Hansol’s eyes opened and he glanced to the side, letting his eyes settle on the Camarilla leader just momentarily before he looked at Hoseok again. “Good enough,” he said. Again his eyes flicked around the circle of people. Secrets whizzed through the air, carried by remnant fragrances, causing his mouth to tilt ruefully. “Not quite good enough to smell a gene across a galaxy, but close enough. Do you want me to prove it?”

 

Jung Hoseok just stared at him. “Yes,” he said, and stepped to the side, out of the way to the unconscious individual. “I need to know what he is.”

 

Wandering forward, it wasn’t until Hansol was only a few paces away that he recognised the man. High cheekbones, pale skin; the pretty one from the club, the one he had scented, the one he had wanted to sleep with but didn’t, because he had _some_ manners and he had been motherlessly drunk. The one that had run away from them at Julliard.

 

“Oh,” came a voice from the side, and he spotted Park Jimin lifting his hands to cover his mouth, lush smiling lips disappearing behind them. “Destiny, you canny _bitch_.”

 

Hansol ignored him and leant down to gently bury his nose in the man’s neck, inhaling slowly. Unseelie hands. A blessing of some sort, dark. Below that the smell of anxiety and fear. Deeper, _deeper_ , past cologne and body wash and the slight tackiness of BB cream. Down into his being, to confront…

 

Blinking, he pulled back, tried to think of what he was smelling and took another sniff. A mix like himself, but unlike him as well. A mashup of origins, of possibilities, until he had to sigh and pull back.

 

“Well?” Kim Seokjin demanded. “What do you smell?”

 

“Many things,” Hansol replied. “Druid and were and fae and even hints of vampire, not as if he’s one of any of us, but as if someone stitched parts together and pulled a human blanket over to hide everything underneath. He smells as if he’s a person made of supernatural parts.”

 

“Shit a brick,” Jung Hoseok groaned. “Of fucking course he had to be one. No wonder I got visions.”

 

Soonyoung frowned. “What?” he asked warily, looking around the circle of people. “What does that mean?”

 

The Fae King sighed softly. “It means that he’s a Chimera,” he explained. “And that means we’re in deep shit.”

 

* * *

 

Jimin was tired when he stepped back from the gathering – he had expended a great deal of energy to keep the Chimera’s scream from hurting Yoongi- _hyung_ and the paint from Neon’s latest artwork was starting to get flaky. Stepping backwards, mind spinning with the revelations and the desire to find a bed and sleep, he didn’t particularly pay attention to the tiny fairies giggling and flying around him to light his path. They were lovely little things but they were also energy vampires, snacking on what was left of his energy to shine so brightly.

 

A hundred metres, two hundred, until he paused to assess his location. He was on the edge of the Glade somewhere, but it was being reticent with him, and he simply didn’t have the energy to chase the entrance down like he normally did. So, halting in his steps, he propped his hands on his hips and stared mutely into the distant depths. “I’m going to count to five,” he uttered mulishly. “And if you’re not here by then I’m going to be very angry. I don’t have the time to play around tonight, so don’t do this to me, ok?”

 

Honestly, the Glade could be such a … such a pampered _dog_ sometimes, and it was all Jeonghan- _hyung_ ’s fault. He indulged it _shamelessly._

 

“Who are you talking to?”

 

The voice from behind, husky and deep, frightened him so much that he spun and lost his footing, landing on his butt on the path. The fairies giggled around him, taking it for a merry jape. All he wanted to do was cry from embarrassment. “ _Hyung_! Were you following me?”

 

Yoongi stepped out of the shadows so that he could see, small and slim, especially in the ragged too-big sweater he had on tonight. There was a small smile on his face that enlivened his tired eyes. Instead of answering, he wandered forward to sink to his haunches in front of Jimin. “You shouldn’t have done that tonight, Jiminie. I’m thankful, don’t get me wrong, but your light is precious, you shouldn’t be wasting it on me.”

 

Jimin tried not to feel tired and sulky but it was difficult, especially with his low reservoirs. “It’s my light,” he said softly. “I’ll choose where to use it. You could have gotten hurt, _hyung_ , I won’t have that. Not when I could help.”

 

Sighing, Yoongi reached to ruffle his hair, fingers delicate as they traced down to the nape of his neck. “How many years?” he asked softly. “I saw how much magic Mingyu had to use, and that was just to protect himself. Even the High Fae aren’t infinite, Jimin. You should not have.”

 

Jimin turned his face away, mulish. “Please,” he managed to get out. “I don’t want to fight about this again, _hyung_. You always treat me like I’m fragile and about to expire. I might even outlive you.”

 

Yoongi stood and hauled him up with gentle hands. “I don’t want to fight either, Jiminie. I wanted to ask you to come back to the club, but you’re tired, anyone can see that. Even your human glamour is slipping. You need to sleep a bit.”

 

Jimin paused, reached up to hold a hand in front of his face and swore creatively. Even though it was faint he could see the radiance of his eyes golden against his palms, saw the abnormally smooth, glowing flesh underneath the flaking paint. “Shit,” he cursed tiredly. “And the Glade isn’t listening to me tonight, she’s being a petty little cow…”

 

The vampire paused, considering him. “Do you… want to come back to my place? Or I can get you to your normal place if you want.”

 

Jimin boggled at Yoongi, poleaxed through his tiredness. “ _Hyung_ … you realise how that sounds?” he teased lightly.

 

“…you can sleep on the couch,” Yoongi said severely. “Don’t get ideas. You saved my life though, so I owe you.”

 

Nodding, Jimin held his breath as Yoongi scooped him into his arms with no effort whatsoever. Their pace through Central Park was abnormally smooth, abnormally fast as the vampire started to run, footsteps delicate and light. They crossed a road, then two, then three, all in a breath filled with dancing lights and smeared traffic lights. He fought his eyes when they wanted to close, but eventually they did and he settled in to sleep, lulled by his _hyung_ ’s smooth gait and cool arms.


	6. Chapter 6

Taehyung, making his way from the Druid’s circle, concentrated on the feeling of his toes wriggling through the loam. The meeting had been fraught with tension between Namjoon-hyung and Seokjin-hyung and the utterly gorgeous leader of the Wild Hunt; he didn’t want to know what was going on there badly enough to risk the explosion he sensed on the horizon. Added to that, Jiminie had messaged earlier to say he was going to sleep in the Glade, and then there had been a garbled one with Little Meow Meow’s name on it so he wasn’t sure what was happening but he wasn’t about to screw his soulmate over and interrupt _that_.

 

The sounds of nature intruded slowly as he wandered back down the park to their shared apartment. He always lived in it, but in moments like these he sunk his being into it, trying to calm down. He felt tacky in the worst way, paint cloying because he had not taken care enough earlier to put the barrier on as Jiminie had. Now…

 

The blow rocked him from head to toe as he moved around a statue, trying to avoid a squirrel in his path. There was enough force that it picked him up and dropped him, albeit just an inch, and for a second his mind spun with it. When he looked up there was a young, groaning man at his feet, shirt half-ripped down one side as his paint had leapt to defend him. It coloured him in brilliant primary colours which glowed faintly, throbbing in tune to the beat of his frantic heart calming itself.

 

_Please Darkness and Light, not a mundane. Not tonight, I can’t take a memory wipe tonight…_

 

“Are you okay?” he asked, sinking down on his haunches to help the guy up. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there at all. I…” He broke off as the guy sat up with a groan, wide doe-eyes boring into his. Identity fell into place in little slices: the plush bunny mouth he had admired earlier, the tremendous muscular definition seen through his ripped shirt, the tattoos he wanted to touch up. His mouth fell open. “Kookie?”

 

Jungkook’s eyes flashed were-gold and were-irritated as he lifted a hand to press to his paint-spattered side. “Jesus fuck, you’re like a bulldozer made of elbows. What the hell was that?”

 

Taehyung smiled, box-bright and suddenly way awake. Standing, he reached to pull the were up. “I’m sorry. _That_ was self-defense, though I should have been more awake. Are you okay?”

 

Jungkook bit his lip as he looked down at the ruin of his shirt, then held one arm up to investigate the smeared paints. “Why am I wearing half your paint?”

 

Taehyung’s smile widened into a grin. “Come on,” he invited. “I live close by, we can get you another shirt and something to take that off. You don’t have to go back to the club, right? And Jiminie’s not going to be home, so it’ll be alright.”

 

“Dude, I don’t know,” Jungkook hedged. “Even though I look like half a Neon right now, tonight was stressful, I’m not too sure of my own temper instead.”

 

“Come on,” Taehyung urged softly. “I’ll even throw in chicken and beer from a takeaway place I know. Real Korean chicken, not that KFC stuff.”

 

Jungkook’s eyes brightened a little and he nodded, stepping aside to let Tae lead.

 

* * *

 

It took them barely fifteen minutes to walk home, and that was spent talking about art, about music, even about the current state of gyms in New York, which Taehyung could care less about but loved to listen to in Jungkook’s voice. He had a contract somewhere at a gym as Jiminie’s plus-one, but he hadn’t seen the inside of one in over a year and found it amusing that the bunny liked it as much as his soulmate did.

 

Talking him past Derek didn’t require too much time either. Taehyung led him inside and up to the living floor, drifting from room to room until he got to his studio, basking in Jungkook’s astonished silence.

 

“Bro,” Jungkook said minutes later as he sat him down on the sofa in his studio, switching on only a few atmospheric lights. “This place is insane. Are you like, rich or something?”

 

Taehyung pondered that. Money was less of a concept to him than it should have been; Jimin’s father had told him to shut up when he didn’t want one of the family credit cards, and it had served him well so far. Not that he spent much on it besides premium artistic supplies and the odd takeout meal. “And something,” he said vaguely, making himself at home on the sofa with a little table close by, one bearing a small bowl of ritual oil and a stack of clean cloth. “Shirt off.”

 

Jungkook wasn’t shy about that, reaching to pull his ruined t-shirt over his head with an impressive display of arms and muscle; Taehyung didn’t groan at the sight of his abs but it was a near thing. He measured the span of naked shoulder facing him and bit his lip, trying to think good thoughts. Unintentionally, hilariously, that meme of sitting five foot away so as not to be gay crossed his mind and he wanted to laugh. He didn’t even know what Jungkook’s orientation was, much less if there was any interest.

 

Not so on his side. It was going to be way more difficult than he had thought, given the way the were’s naked, warm skin called to him and the way his hair curled adorably from the evening humidity. Exhaling slowly, he set to work.

 

Taehyung slowly dragged the cloth up the curve of Jungkook’s shoulder down his back, chanting the muscle names to himself as he worked. It went excruciatingly slowly; the pigment didn’t want to leave because it sensed what its master felt for the young were in front of him. He had to finesse it off with oils deeper and heavier than linseed: nuts gathered under the noonday sun, fat from certain deep-sea creatures pressed and rendered and squeezed, all given willingly. His breath wisped against the wet, glistening skin as he unfurled his magic slowly to help.

 

Deltoid. Trapezius. In under the arm. Teres Minor. Teres Major. Down the side into the latissimus dorsi. He worked and worked, taking it off with cloth and fragrant oil and fingertips, carefully stripping the painting that had been on his skin that had transferred.

 

“Taehyung-ssi,” Jungkook said with a soft, intense voice. “Taehyung-ssi, I don’t…” He shut his mouth with a ripple of jaw, knife-sharp line quivering.

 

“Am I hurting you, Kookie?” he asked softly as he heard a moan trapped deep in wolf’s throat, fingertips stilling over his ribs, then up again to the back of the deltoid. He felt the shiver in the muscle and fought not to bury his face in Jungkook’s neck to nuzzle against the tremendous heat. “I’m sorry. This is the stuff I cast magic with. It takes more than just soap. Just bear with me, please?”

 

He heard Jungkook’s teeth gnash together at his words, felt more than saw the way his strong thighs pressed together needily, and enlightenment dawned. Kookie, young tough alpha Kookie, was getting turned _on_. Even his ears were turning slightly pink, and Taehyung was lost in the incongruous delicacy of that in the growing heat.

 

Impish glee made him caress a slippery thumb up the line of shoulder and strong neck, nudging and massaging at the tense spots in his jaw and the vulnerable spot behind his ear. “So tense,” he teased. His eyes half-lidded when he heard fabric tearing, good-naturedly resigning Jimin’s couch to welfare as the wolf’s nails dragged through one pillow.

 

“Taehyung-ssi…”

 

It was a breathless, needy growl, one that warned of a beast about to pounce, but Taehyung wasn’t scared. His being had been since night and day separated, and he _liked_ this man, enough to land them in the current situation. Smiling, he dragged his hand down Jungkook’s back to span his ridiculously tiny waist, fingers caressing at the smears of neon colours there. He messed it into a swirl, a chaotic muddle, so that it spoke of the inchoate mess he sometimes was. “I love your tattoos, Kookie. Such beautiful work. Will you let me paint on you sometime? Will that be a problem for you, wearing my colours?”

 

He could practically hear Jungkook’s patience snap; seconds later he was hauled around and made to straddle his lap, pouting bunny lips seeking his for a kiss. Their chests pressed together as Jungkook attacked his mouth, smearing the leftover paint on his body, and he laughed exultantly as he leant back with Kookie’s lower lip trapped between his teeth.

 

Jungkook gasped, needy and hungry and whining, tearing his mouth away to stare at Taehyung with dark, dark red eyes. “I’ll paint you in my own colours,” he promised on a rolling growl. “Jesus Christ, I’m going to fuck you so hard, you have _no idea_ …”

 

Taehyung’s lips curved into a puckish little smile. “Maybe I’ll wear them, but it looks like I’m on top at the moment, Koo…”

 

It was both the stupidest and the best thing he’d ever said. He had barely uttered the words when he was on his back, Jungkook’s hips insistently rutting against his as one hand pulled his left leg up and over the back of the couch, splitting him wide open for the wolf’s pleasure. It had been so long but he still bent easily, resting back against brocaded fabric as his partner pressed their cocks together and reached to inch his pants down just a little to nibble at the painted skin there.

 

“Kookie,” he sighed with the beginnings of lust, hands lifting to card through his partner’s hair fondly. Teeth nipped at his belly, hard enough to surely leave a bruise, and he tightened his hands to haul the wolf’s head up. Even in that awkward position Jungkook’s face contorted in a rictus of lust as the alpha inside him protested the action, but he also felt hands ripping the zip of his pants apart. He gasped, felt one hand dive inside to his cock and firmed his grasp on Jungkook’s hair. “Kookie, stop. We’re not going to do it here.”

 

Jungkook’s gaze clouded a little with confusion. “What?” he asked. “I… what?” His hands retreated at light speed. “I thought you wanted it, _hyung_.”

 

That ‘hyung’ wrenched at Tae’s heart, as did the uncertain expression on his face. He pulled him up for a kiss, gentle and sweet and lingering, before their mouths parted wetly. “I do want it. But I want it in a bed, and I like it when people are gentle with me – there’s a time for furious sofa sex, okay? But not for our first time. I want you to take me in my bed.”

 

Jungkook’s taut frame shuddered and relaxed slowly against him. “I don’t know how gentle I can be,” he muttered into Taehyung’s sternum. “I’ve never really had to be before.”

 

Taehyung nudged him off and stood to lead him to the bedroom. “Hyung will teach you,” he promised.

 

Later, after a wander through the dark apartment, they met again on Taehyung’s bed, bathed only in the light of the miniature stars on the ceiling. Fae stars, which obligingly brightened just enough so that he could see the lines of Jungkook’s body on the cool iris blues of his silk sheets. His wolf had shed his clothes without complaint, and his lean lines were glorious, enough to make Taehyung’s mouth water. He reached to smooth a finger up the long line on the outside of his abs, visible even at rest. “Oh my gods,” he said softly. “Mother Darkness, but you’re beautiful.”

 

The compliment elicited a little squirm and a pleased grin. “I dance a lot,” Jungkook shared, tucking his hands behind his head on the pillow. “And you know I like to work out. It’s just muscle, hyung.” His cock, already hard when he undressed, twitched against his belly, long and fat and potent.

 

Taehyung looked up at him, and Jungkook blinked.

 

“Your eyes,” he stammered. “Hyung, they’re so dark…”

 

Taehyung felt a shiver of arousal down his back, pausing for a moment to peel out of his own shirt and pants. Slowly, just enough not to startle his partner, he straddled Jungkook’s hips so that their cocks rested together on the were’s belly. Though not as thick, his was a little longer. “I’m not human, Kookie. You’re heat and power and the changing faces of the moon, I’m the dark beyond the moon, the bits left over from sunlight when it’s spent. Do they scare you?”

 

Jungkook swallowed, shook his head. “No,” he whispered, reaching to place his hands on Tae’s hips. “Fuck no, as long as you can handle an alpha in bed I don’t mind at all.”

 

Watching the way his paint circled and spread possessively over Jungkook’s torso, Taehyung bit his lip again. There were streaks of neon blue and acrid yellows, heart-red and a dark purple, all coiling around one flat brown nipple as if declaring Jungkook’s chest their territory. It was so alluring, he could do so many things to the young man with it. “Kookie,” he whispered. “Can I fuck you tonight? Can you be alpha enough to allow that and not get bent all out of shape? I can understand if you don’t want to, but I really want to.”

 

Blinking slowly up at him, Jungkook stared at him for a long time. “Will you be gentle?” he finally asked. “I’ve really not done that before.”

 

“The gentlest,” Taehyung promised, and leant down to kiss him.

 

Moments passed slowly as he learnt what excited his partner, what made him tremble and gasp. His Kookie liked deep, gentle kisses, liked it when Taehyung sucked small hickeys in between his tattoos. He was ticklish, giggled when Taehyung kissed over his ribs, and moaned like a little wanton when Taehyung finally eased his thighs apart to worship them. The fae spent a long time there, worshipping the soft, secret flesh with his skin until his wolf mewled and writhed with it, hands in his hair trying to nudge him towards his straining cock.

 

“No,” Taehyung said softly but surely, pressing his teeth into the soft line of skin between groin and thigh. “I’m not done here.”

 

“Hyuuung,” Kookie whined. “Oh my god, just suck my cock okay? I’m _dying_ up here. It’s just skin!”

 

It cost merely a thought from Taehyung, but the paint raced to Jungkook’s extremities, circling ankles and wrists and slowly pulling him open all the way, until even his dancer’s frame shivered under the pull. “Precisely,” he murmured. “It’s your skin, every inch of it should be loved.” His tongue-tip dipped sideways and south, tickling into the wolf’s perineum before his thumbs spread his cheeks even wider open and he licked him there too, broad and flat across his trembling hole.

 

Jungkook hitched his hips up with a shocked, tremulous shout, cock dripping a thick slicking of precome on his stomach. “Fuck!” he cursed, hips doing it again and again as Taehyung’s tongue dipped and swirled.

 

“Hasn’t anyone ever played with you, Kookie?” Taehyung asked as he sat him, smile skewed but irretrievably fond. “You’re so sensitive.” He reached sideways into a drawer, pulled out the small ritual bowl that sat there and balanced it on Jungkook’s stomach, just above his weeping cock. A snap of his fingers had it fill up with something thick and translucent and shimmering with his magic. “Don’t spill that,” he ordered as he dipped his fingertips into it.

 

Preparing Jungkook was one of the biggest pleasures he had; he had never been particularly emphatic but he could _feel_ the were’s arousal, hopeless and all-consuming. His wolf shouted for him when one slicked finger slowly stretched him for the first time. He spent his time making sure he was ready for the second one, and had to grab his cock and hold it hard against the root to stop him from coming. “Shhh,” he soothed. “Just one more finger, bunny, just one more… then I’ll fuck you, okay?”

 

Jungkook, huge eyes glistening with tears, nodded frantically and gabbled out his name, trembling with the need to stay still enough not to splash the lube. Taehyung, hardly watching for it, was amazed when he curled in half, lifting his hips in supplication whilst his stomach remained as flat as possible. The sight of that trust, that flexibility, zinged arousal down his spine, and his cock urgently reminded him it had somewhere to be, and he had to get on with it damn quickly. Still, gentle as can be, he finally slipped the third finger in, fingertips curling and nudging over Jungkook’s prostate in little delicate bumps.

 

“Tae!” his wolf creeled, trying so hard to hold himself still. “Please, please please, I want you, okay? Fuck me, please!”

 

In the end it wasn’t the begging that undid Taehyung’s control, but the erratic thunder of Jungkook’s heart against his paint, the way red-red eyes stared imploringly at him. He relented, pulled his fingers clean and pressed the head of his cock against his entrance, slowly slipping inside. His hand loosened, going to curl next to Jungkook’s hips, and he slowly surged inwards and forwards as the wolf thrashed and howled out his climax.

 

When Jungkook finally fell to the bed, cock spent for the moment, he was balls deep inside him still, hard and potent and patient. Taehyung watched him, curious and loving, as the thunder of his heartbeat slowed and reality came back to his eyes. There was a lovely pink blush on his cheeks and his eyelashes fanned his cheeks as he tried to keep his eyes open and focused on Taehyung’s. “That… that…”

 

“Yes?” Taehyung asked, one hand moving fondly over his ribs as he leant forward to give pouting pink lips a kiss. “What is it, Kookie?”

 

“It didn’t hurt,” his partner said wonderingly. “It felt so good…” His voice trailed out and the blush intensified as he wiggled, little aftershocks clenching him down futilely on Tae’s large cock. “Oh wow.”

 

Taehyung grinned at him, boxy and bright, as he leant in to give him another kiss, this time deeper. “Of course not,” he whispered against kiss-slicked lips. “Even gentle can be good, right?” He paused. “Do you want to stop rather?”

 

Jungkook bit at his lip, not too savagely, with just the right tingle to it. “I want you to fuck me,” he whispered into Taehyung’s mouth. “Please. As long as you want. Just for tonight, I’ll be your little bunny, ok?” Tugging against the paint, he moved his hands to Taehyung’s back, sweeping up and down in great, fond flourishes.

 

Taehyung’s heart pinched in his chest before he deliberately buried the fondness deep inside, lest his heart fall. Fae hearts were not fickle things, as Jimin had proved with his pursuit of Yoongi; if he let it fall to Jungkook’s earnestness now he’d never have a second chance.

 

Instead, getting comfortable, he did as the wolf asked, fucking him in long, smooth strokes as he devoured his mouth, pressed praises into the shell of his ear. The only roughness to him was the one hand he had buried in the curve Jungkook’s ass to help guide him. He fucked him slowly hard again, through another babbling orgasm, until their bodies were stuck together, semen mixing with paint until they were both a swirled, smeared canvas of colours.

 

At the last, having turned his bunny over because he begged, he pressed his chest down in his sheets and lifted his hip up for short, powerful strokes that had him babbling and screaming Tae’s name. His cock, aching with the effort of holding off so long, bumped smoothly over Jungkook’s prostate, the ride slick and sheer from the liniment he had used, lips buried in his neck to soothe and tease him. He bit kisses into him too, scattering a tiny necklace of bruises around and over the sensitive scent glands there, until Jungkook whimpered and writhed and collapsed with the force of his third climax for the night, wrung and utterly spent.

 

Tae followed him down, collapsed over him as he came too, and settled in to the feeling of filling his Kookie utterly. When he tried to move away and give him some air, his partner whimpered and clawed him back, so he fell asleep like that, still buried deep inside, still kissing his neck fondly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * Pretty much this whole piece was inspired by Lana Del Rey's [Body Electric](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nzV1st_Ekrc) and [Mussells](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mussells/pseuds/Mussells). 
> 



	7. Chapter 7

Namjoon felt tired. He felt more than tired, as if every year of the two thousand he couldn’t remember was ganging up on him at once. It had been a shitty day; he had nearly broken down crying from sheer gratitude when Jeonghan stepped up to the plate and got the vampires and the Wild Hunt off his back, which left him blissfully alone in the far reaches of the Glade, sitting next to the true reality of his tree watching the poor Chimera boy slumbering against its roots. The healing energy wrapped around him shimmered faintly green around him, which left him to tilt his head back and close his eyes, memories unwillingly intruding.

 

He had first met Jin somewhere in the mid-eighties at a small amusement park, where they had both gotten hideously lost, he from his group of friends and Jin from a child of his he had been watching. They had somehow bonded over ice cream and shared desperation – neither of them liked the abomination that was mint chip – and their friendship had been easy and sweet at that time. He hadn’t known Jin was on the verge of becoming an elder vampire, that the guy he used to tease about being a prince had actually been one over a millennium ago.

 

He hadn’t even known that his branch of the Kim family had their secrets too, namely the genes that came from a country cooler and wetter than South Korea, borne across the seas when the Druids had fled England and the Christian faith. Everyone had been fairly normal except for cousin Hani, who had become a _mudang_ and claimed to talk to the spirits every day. Now, looking back, she had probably been less crazy and more prophetic than his mother had sneered.

 

The year or so he and Jin had spent together had been wonderfully sweet and gentle. Jin had been his first kiss, his first sex, his first _boyfriend_ , even if it had been taboo in those years. Everything had been lovely and wonderful and soft between them, until... until… until That Night.

 

He still remembered it as if it had been yesterday.

 

South Korea had been burning in the ire of the June Struggle, not to mention the death of Bak Jeongcheol during waterboarding and that of Yi Hanyeol, whose skull had been penetrated by a teargas canister at a protest. He had been at the same demonstration, had faced the same ire of the authorities, and had just had… he had just had enough, when the man with burning eyes snatched him up at a neighbourhood bar that night and Jin had come from nowhere and attacked.

 

It had been blood and fangs and violence, something his screaming mind could not tolerate, and he had passed out over the feet of a young-looking Jung Hoseok. The man that attacked him had turned out to be a demon, he had woken up barely in time to see an old woman with ancient-looking eyes impaled on the branches of a massive red pine and a tear in the sky through which meteorites fell. Meteorites with strange curving paths, flashing brilliant gold and sullen red.

 

He remembered the way she had looked at him, then up at the sky, bleeding from every cut and orifice, and shouted something. The tree and the old woman had died in front of him but the hole in the sky had closed, and he had screamed and screamed as his powers woke for the first time in pain and fear and blood.

 

He breathed out slowly, trying to live through the memory. It had taken him days to realise that he was no longer just Namjoon, that the power of his bloodline had awoken in him, that the old woman had somehow passed along something as she died. They were days in which Jin walked very carefully around him, in which Jung Hoseok made sure that he lived and breathed and ate. Days in which he had to internalise the burning spirit of the old woman who reviled him for being weak and pacifistic.

 

Days in which he had been just like the poor, stitched-up creature on the root of his oak now, confused and confronted with a frightening reality. Softly in the depths of his mental vaults, he swore to make it easier for Boo Seungkwan than it had been for himself.

 

Every time he thought he could relax, that the weird triune partnership between himself, Seokjin and Hoseok would work, it came back to bite him in the ass. He was _tired._ Especially after the fucking eyeball. The eyeball had been the straw on his breaking back for the past year.

 

He came to as the body on the root began stirring, and was at Seungkwan’s side as earth-brown eyes flew open and he gasped for breath. “Easy,” Namjoon soothed. “Easy, you had a nasty turn there. You passed out at the club and we didn’t want to just drop you somewhere, and there was no ID on you.”

 

Seungkwan looked panicked as he sat up, but Namjoon’s oak and the quiet in the Glade worked its magic on him as the wet rattle in his lungs smoothed out, merely hoarse after a few seconds. “This isn’t the club.”

 

“No,” Namjoon said gently. “It’s sort of Central Park, actually. Do you remember what happened to you?”

 

Seungkwan swallowed. “I saw a thing made of teeth and what looked like a vampire, then two bright things and everything just went grey? I… there was a young boy, he was being hurt? I’m sorry. I didn’t think the bartender would spike my drink, I watched him make it, but I must have had a really bad trip. I’m so sorry. Things have been stressful at the academy in the new program, so maybe my mind went boing?” He gave an uncomfortable laugh.

 

Even with his resolution, Namjoon didn’t quite know how to break the news to him. “It wasn’t a spiked drink,” he finally said uncomfortably, hating the fact that he couldn’t lie to make things easier. “I mean, I’m pretty sure that you saw what you saw. As for the young boy…” He pointed over to another root and the young hellhound resting feverishly on it, middle still bandaged and spotted with blood. “Was it him?”

 

Staring doubtfully at him, Seungkwan sidled off the tree root, gave it a dubious stare, and turned to look. He paled almost immediately, flinching back as if he saw something there that Namjoon couldn’t for all his power. “Look,” he tried again. “I’m sorry. Whatever kind of cult this is, I really don’t want in.”

 

“Close your eyes,” Namjoon advised. “Touch him without looking. You have got to start looking at the surface of things again, not deeper. Not if you want to retain your sanity.”

 

Seungkwan, likely feeling as if humouring the man was the best option, closed his eyes and reached out blindly, forehead frowning when he met a hand instead of the churning black form he saw. It was a normal hand, strong and calloused if sweaty and chilled, but still _normal_. “What’s going on?” he quavered. “I… I want to go back to my dorm, please. I don’t want to be here. Can you please just let me go?”

 

 _Hoseok-ah will want him,_ Namjoon thought distantly. His lips tucked into a thin smile. “Sure. I’ll summon someone to take you home.”

 

* * *

 

Of all the people that Seungkwan expected to escort him home, none had been the guy he had seen in the club, with his pretty dyed hair and skin marked by tattoos. He had spent at least half of the ride back to the dorm covertly admiring the hottie through the lens of whatever fucked up drugs were still present in his system, which told him that underneath the quiet unassuming skater look something powerful slumbered, something he couldn’t quite identify.

 

They hadn’t spoken bar Seungkwan giving the taxi driver his dorm address. When they got out at the university, he had half-expected the guy to peek off and walk away without any further contact, but to his surprise he followed him up the stairs to his dorm room. Seungkwan silently thanked his lucky stars that his dorm roommate was out somewhere in the Hamptons for the weekend and havered on the threshold, uncertain whether he should lock the door firmly, invite the guy in or just scream until things made sense.

 

“Hansol,” the guy said as Seungkwan looked doubtfully between him and the door. “My name is Chwe Hansol. I won’t hurt you.”

 

Seungkwan managed a ghost of a smile. “Boo Seungkwan,” he said, throat still aching. “From Jeju.”

 

“Jeju is pretty. I was there once on a school trip.”

 

Seungkwan brightened a little. “Did you ride the rail bike?” he asked with a glimmer of excitement.

 

Hansol straightened a little from his slouch, essaying a hesitant smile. “I did. It was really pretty.”

 

“That’s my father’s business!” Seungkwan exclaimed. “I knew you had to, all the big schools do it, and your Korean is so good! I… oh, I have some tangerines? Do you want a tangerine?”

 

Hansol’s brow crinkled a moment before he shrugged a shoulder. “Okay? If you have questions,” he muttered. “I could answer them. If you want.”

 

Seungkwan bit the inside of his cheek as he shuffled inside, holding the door open. It clicked very gently behind Hansol, who looked around until he sat on Seungkwan’s rickety desk chair. Seconds later, frowning at the wobble in it, he stood. “Do you have some duct tape?”

 

Mystified, Seungkwan went to search through his roommate’s table, as his tended highly to the aesthetic rather than the functional. He eventually found the tape, tossed it over and sank down on his bed to watch as Hansol tore off several large strips. “I’ll fix it right tomorrow,” the guy mumbled as he secured the wobbly leg thoroughly. Some strips went to hold the back on, most to make sure the leg got strapped down, and one to roll up and level out the leg with. Finally, when the chair passed the wiggle test, he sank down on it again, back in his shell.

 

Seungkwan stood, went to fetch two of his precious tangerines and put them down next to the duct tape. He felt like the most awkward creature ever when he sank back down on the bed, with the realisation creeping in that he was still sitting in filthy clubbing clothes and smeared makeup in front of Hansol. Who… didn’t seem to give a fig, apparently? “What happened to me?” he asked baldly. “Was it drugs? My mom warned me against them.”

 

Hansol shook his head. “Not drugs. Um, what do you know about yourself? Like, where you came from?”

 

“What do you mean? I’m from Jeju like I told you. Well, I was born in Busan but we moved at age five. I have two older sisters; my mother is an office worker. I had a fairly normal life, at least until I made the course admission and came here.” Seungkwan’s fingers tangled in his peach bedding. “I didn’t think I’d make it, to be honest.”

 

“Why did you move to Jeju?” Hansol asked curiously. “Busan’s a bigger city for work, right?”

 

Seungkwan stared at his stupidly handsome features and tried not to feel like an idiot under the heterochromic eyes that rested on him so gently. “I got really sick,” he finally admitted, looking away. “The doctors said it might be better to move to a less congested area, where the air is clearer.”

 

“Oh. Did it work?”

 

“It did, kind of? It got to the point where I could spend more time outside anyway.” Seungkwan dusted his knees of with a series of light finger-fidgets. “Why do you ask?”

 

Silence reigned for a moment before Hansol sighed. “I don’t think you came from where you think you came from.” At Seungkwan’s frown he held up his hands. “No. Just… just give me a moment, okay?” He waited until Seungkwan settled down before he continued. “Look, have you ever believed in magic of any sort? Or the supernatural? Werewolves, vampires, so on…”

 

“…if you’re going to spring some kind of ‘It’s all real’ conversation on me,” Seungkwan interrupted, “Then I’m going to warn you beforehand that I think it’s all bull and that you should stop reading fantasy novels with heroes with an improbable yet glorious heritage. That kind of thing doesn’t happen in real life.”

 

Hansol’s mouth snapped shut on a thin line. Silence fell for a moment before he looked around. “Do you have a towel or something?” he asked through pinched lips. “I’ll prove it to you, but I’m going to need a towel.”

 

Seungkwan’s shoulders stiffened. The give had gone out of Hansol’s shoulders; somehow, he had insulted him but he didn’t know how precisely unless he was really touchy about his reading. Sheer curiosity prompted him to stand and fetch his towel, making sure it was dry before he handed it over. “Okay? How is a towel going to help, unless…?”

 

Taking the towel, Hansol buried his face in it, giving a slow inhale.

 

Seungkwan’s eyes boggled. “What the hell are you doing, you weirdo?” he squeaked. “Don’t smell my towel like that!”

 

“You showered maybe five hours ago,” Hansol said softly. “You washed with some kind of charcoal-infused soap, but I can smell shea butter and coconut oil too, so I’m going to guess it’s one of April Skin’s magic stones. You use it on your whole body, not just your face, which is interesting. You nicked something whilst shaving, I can smell specks of blood on this, but it must have been a leg because I can’t see a cut on your face. I can smell the steps of your skincare program too. You have wonderful skin.” He looked up, mismatched eyes steady. “You haven’t eaten a lot today, just some kind of salad because I can still smell the spinach and kale, and you love honey water and tea, it’s practically coming from your pores. I can definitely smell the tequila and the Jagerbomb from earlier. They weren’t spiked.”

 

Gaping at him, Seungkwan tried not to panic. “I… for my throat,” he whispered. “What the fuck? Have you been stalking me? How do you know all of that?”

 

Hansol shook his head softly and put the towel aside as he scooted over to his roommate’s side of things. He undressed with slow, uncomfortable motions, stripping sweatshirt and sleeveless tee, every movement of his body clearly unwilling but determined, and he didn’t stop when Seungkwan squeaked and turned around in a panic. “I’ll show you. Hang on.”

 

There was a hot guy undressing in his room, without him asking, and Seungkwan’s mind practically exploded. He was so lost in it that he didn’t pay attention to the strange whispering sound behind him, but he peeked over his shoulder at the click-click-click of what sounded like claws on the concrete floor. There, standing behind him, was a honey-coloured wolf that took him to his shoulders. The thing was _huge_ , defying common expectation. His legs folded as he gave a short scream, half-collapsing over his bed as he scrambled to get away.

 

The wolf remained where it was, tail giving a wag, but even that stilled when its tail nearly smacked his roommate’s chair upside-down.

 

Seconds passed into minutes and it just stood there, giving Seungkwan a moment to catch his breath. When he looked over his shoulder, halfway in behind his bed, it was watching him curiously, intelligently, patiently. His breath paused when it tilted its head a little, heterochromic eyes startlingly familiar in the unfamiliar pelted face. The beautiful shades of golden-amber and moss-green struck him, so familiar, and he swallowed thickly. “I… Hansol?”

 

The wolf lowered its head once in a nod before it lowered itself into a resting position so it didn’t loom so.

 

Seungkwan’s mind spun. It took him a minute before he could let go of visceral fear – it was a damned big wolf. When it didn’t move, he cautiously made his way up straight. “Hansol?” he asked again, holding out a trembling hand.

 

The wolf didn’t get up but stretched his nose out, taking a single huff of Seungkwan’s palm before he scooted a little closer, whining softly for petting.

 

Seungkwan laughed through astonished tears, utterly overwhelmed again, and gave in to his instincts to pet the huge, winter-shaggy wolf.

 

* * *

 

Later, hours later when the new day dawned, Lee Seokmin came to call Namjoon about the visitor he had been expecting. Dressing himself with care, he wandered out of the far edges of the glade and back to reality, there to confront Hoseok-ah. It felt a little easier now that he didn’t have Jin’s eyes pleading for a reunion anymore, and he faced the bright smile of the MAP leader with fortitude and a nod. “Hoseok- _hyung_ ,” he got out evenly. “What can I do for you?”

 

He watched Hoseok’s face fall just a little, saw the smile dim for the moment before it grew again. “I’m here for the boys,” his erstwhile lover said softly. “Chan-ah and the Chimera boy.”

 

“Lee Chan has not yet roused, he’s still healing. The Chimera boy woke some hours ago and I sent him home at his request,” Namjoon said formally.

 

Hoseok blinked, tilted his head slightly in an ‘oh?’ motion and frowned a little. “I didn’t give you leave to let him go. Anyone that dangerous, especially a Chimera, is to be handled extremely delicately. What’s going on, Namjoon-ah?”

 

Namjoon wondered for a moment that stretched long if he was truly as angry as he felt. Not only because this happened every time the Wild Hunt showed up and he was irretrievably in love with its leader, but also the sheer assurance, the sheer _arrogance_ he was being addressed with. It grated down his spine and stepped on his pacifism firmly, rekindling his pain and anger. “I sent the boy home with a protector,” he stated remotely, mind filled with the terrible image of a friend’s eyeball in a box, rolling and facing him.

 

“What?” Hoseok bit out, marching forward. “What the fuck, Namjoon-ah, I didn’t tell you that you could…” His body rocked to a halt as a low thundering shook through the floor of the park, as the trees of the massive oak behind Namjoon lashed wildly.

 

“Do not,” Namjoon’s voice rang hollow, echoed with his power, “Do not presume that you may order me around like a lackey, Jung Hoseok.” Behind him, rising like mist from the early-morning forest, the protectors of the park came: wolves and a sett of badgers and the spirits of the land, writhing and furious at the anger of their leader. Lee Seokmin, skin bled green-gold with the young caster’s power, stepped from the glade into the city’s reality as well, and behind him came the casters that stayed there permanently.

 

“Do not,” Namjoon said again. “Do not _imagine_ that I will heel to your horn’s call, oh Beast of the End Days. You walk here on my sufferance. I heal your people out of my goodwill. I will take your entrails and hang them on the Sacred Tree before I hand an innocent boy over to you, and the gods may sort out your successor amongst themselves.”

 

The early-morning atmosphere thickened with tension, from a Kim Namjoon crowned with his powers to a thin-lipped, paste-white, _angry_ Jung Hoseok, both trembling with the need of a single impetus to go to battle. It broke when Jung Hoseok turned on his heel and marched away, disappearing between one step and the next.

 

“Namjoon- _hyung_ ,” Seokmin muttered, releasing his power and striding to his boss’ side. “Namjoon- _hyung_ , are you okay?”

 

Namjoon merely shook his head. He didn’t know if he’d ever be okay again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * Please note again that this is an AU, and as such characterisation might be different from the RL band members. 
>   * So there's a lot that goes on here, especially a bit of Namjoon's back story and the pain he's currently living with. 
>   * For those curious, the amusement park happened around 1985 somewhere and the demonstrations and the June Struggle are both real. That means Namjoon is likely in his body's fiftieth year or so, but Druids are mostly eternal unless they sacrifice themselves for something. 
>   * Imagine being awkward enough that your idea of flirting with someone is fixing their broken desk chair for them. 
>   * A bit of a confrontation between Namjoon and Hoseok. The leader of the Wild Hunt is extremely powerful, but Namjoon is as well, especially on his home turf. 
> 



	8. Chapter 8

Seungkwan awoke with a creak, feeling sore in every joint of his body, and for a moment he didn’t know where he was. Reality returned slowly as his mind churned to remember his own name. Ironically it was the sight of the huge wolf on the floor in front of his bed that calmed him and he closed his eyes with a huff again, remembering last night and its myriad mysteries.

 

Hansol had permitted few seconds of a belly rub before he changed back, hair wild and free, and Seungkwan had turned his head as the other dressed quickly in his clothes again. They had talked for hours afterwards as Hansol slowly laid out the supernatural world as he knew it, telling him a little of his childhood. Things had turned more serious when he had been unable to explain the precise danger Seungkwan was in; instead he asked if it was okay to spend the rest of the night to watch over him even through the persistent sneezing at the tangerines he had peeled.

 

Seungkwan, feeling awkward, had made a bed for him on the floor when he turned up his nose at his roommate’s bed; lying on his side in the nest of blankets and throws, with his head popped up on the largest flower stuffy in his collection, Hansol had changed back into his huge wolf form, and for a moment Seungkwan had just sat with him, learning things: how very ticklish his back paws were, that he didn’t like his fur combed the wrong way, and how much heat he gave off.

 

Somehow… somehow it just _worked,_ filling him with the same glee as playing with a big puppy did, despite it being a hot guy instead. His stomach flipped at that thought, and memories rolled slowly as a whale in deep water. “Was it you?” he had asked. “The boy I danced with in the club?”

 

He had received no answer, simply the snuggle of a huge head on his lap for a moment before the wolf nudged him to bed. He had fallen deeply asleep almost at once, waking up in the same position as when he had gotten into bed. Now, looking at the wolf flank that came almost even with his bed, he reached out to bury his hand in the winter-thick fur before his eyes fluttered closed for a moment.

 

He must have lost time. When he opened his eyes again Hansol was in his human form, sitting on the chair with duct tape.

 

“You should take it easy today,” the were drawled softly and deeply. “You should be safe enough. Namjoon-hyung sent word.”

 

“Is he also one of you?”

 

Hansol looked up at him, mismatched eyes very clear in the early morning light in the window. “No,” he said at length. Fiddling with his phone, he eventually pushed it into a pocket and stood. “I have to go. Goodbye, Boo Seungkwan.”

 

Seungkwan stared as he turned, at his back and the folded blankets and pillows, at the way his hand curled to open the door. The goodbye sounded so _final._ His own hands curled into the blankets and he opened his mouth, uneasy. “You promised to fix my chair!” tripped from his lips instead of the thanks he had wanted to give.

 

Hansol paused at the door and threw him a look over his shoulder.

 

“You… you did,” Seungkwan insisted in the face of that look, sure his cheeks were turning pink with embarrassment. “And I… um, breakfast?”

 

One corner of the were’s mouth curled up slightly. “Breakfast?” he asked, turning to lean on the door. “Are you offering yourself, or do you have pastries hidden in there somewhere?”

 

Seungkwan’s cheeks flared ruddy, mind skipping to stories of Beauty and the Beast. “If you fix my chair,” he got out somehow, “I’ll buy you breakfast.”

 

“Tempting,” Hansol drawled. “I’ll go, if you give me your number too.”

 

“My number?” Seungkwan repeated dumbly.

 

“So that I can ask you on a date,” Hansol clarified with a small smile. “Even I know it’s impolite to bite before one of those.” He paused. “I’ll wait in the corridor if you want to get ready. Wrap up warm, it’s freezing outside.”

 

* * *

 

Soonyoung hopped into the gym at the university, silently bemoaning the fact that even with his dancing he hadn’t lost the slight puffiness to his cheeks or gotten that six-pack he promised himself. Too much chicken and beer and ramen, which wasn’t on any diet he had ever gotten, and he had taken one look at himself this morning and packed his gym gear. It had been a scramble until he got some recommendations from Hansol this morning.

 

Some time later found him jogging in place outside what claimed to be the country’s longest-running gym. The uncompromising ‘GYM’ above the entrance made him feel a little better about things – he didn’t want a gym in it for the looks – and so he ventured inside and reported to the counter, jiggling a little with excitement. “Hi!” he said to the woman behind the counter. “I called a little earlier about an intro session with a trainer if one is available? Edward Kwon?”

 

She smiled up at him, pretty gorgeous with her tanned, athletic body, and nodded enough for her ponytail to bounce. “I managed to track that group membership number down, Mr. Kwon. You’re still on the list, so no fees are needed. Unfortunately, it was too late to book with one of our normal trainers, but we have an independent one here that said he’d take you on for the session? His first client cancelled on him as well, and he does have dance training, like you specified.”

 

Soonyoung beamed at her. “That’ll be fine! How much extra is it?”

 

The girl shook her head. “No charge, your membership contract covers it.” She placed a plastic card on the desk, clipped a lanyard onto it and handed it to him. “I’ll page him to tell him you’re here. Just go down the stairs here, then right, and you’ll see our studios on the left. There should be a step class in the left at the moment. He’ll be there soon!”

 

Waving goodbye, Soonyoung trotted down the stairs and took the path heading to the studio, slipping inside after spending a moment to watch the step class. Shucking off his outerwear and placing his things down, he started stretching and warming up, dancing a few measures every now and then to assess his form. Five minutes became ten, then fifteen before he opened his eyes and saw the short man leaning against the doorway watching him intently.

 

Coming to a stop, Soonyoung lifted one arm to his forehead to wipe off his sweat and got in his share of staring. The guy definitely was short, almost a head shorter than himself, but his sleeveless top revealed muscular arms and he had a straight, no-holds-barred look Soonyoung was more used to seeing on alphas than mundanes. It meshed ironically with his baby face and the slightly-too-long blonde hair, captured behind his head in a little stubby ponytail. There was a zing to him, a lightness of being that suggested _something_ supernatural, and not for the first time he grumbled internally that he didn’t have a wolf’s nose.

 

“Edward Kwon?” The name sat uneasily in the blonde’s mouth. “My nine o’ clock?”

 

“Kwon Soonyoung,” Soonyoung said easily, switching over to Korean for his benefit. “I think so? The lady at the desk didn’t tell me your name.”

 

The blonde clicked his tongue and wandered deeper into the room, arms still crossed. “You’re a dancer?” He paused. “I’m Lee Jihoon. The paperwork suggests we’re about the same age. Mind if I keep it informal?”

 

Soonyoung’s smile grew, eyes almost squinting shut. “Not at all,” he said happily. “Let’s be good friends.”

 

An hour later he regretted those words in every fraction of his being. Jihoon was a gym monster. The assessment had gone well enough, he hadn’t had to ask for adjustment based on his species, it had just happened. It was what came after that killed him: he might have been fit and an excellent dancer, but Jihoon had pinched at his stomach and upped his core and cardio work with little compunction. In between, as he crunched and did burpees and pullups, Jihoon stood there watching his form like a hawk.

 

“Can you even reach the bars?” Soonyoung tried to snark mid-pullup, sweating like a pig and swearing off beer forever. If it hadn’t been for his were body, his waist would have snapped long ago, not to mention his arms. He felt _filthy_ and his trainer was just standing there, looking tiny and perfect and entirely hateable.

 

Seconds later a set of hands clanged against the pullup pole next to him. With a look of death, Lee Jihoon started doing pullups with him. “You were saying?” he advised smoothly, with no hitch in his voice whatsoever.

 

Soonyoung didn’t know whether he should cry or fall in love.

 

* * *

 

“What were you thinking of?” Jeonghan asked curiously as he stood to pace from his throne to a conversational seating place in a plant-bedecked lounge, nodding Namjoon to one of the chairs. “The ties between the Druids and the Fae lie bone-deep, blood-deep, but do they stretch to you virtually declaring war on MAP and the Wild Hunt on my doorstep?”

 

“MAP Securities,” Namjoon repeated with a weary, wry tone. “Gods, Jeonghan-ah, you know that they’re more like a bunch of bullies these days than the protectors of old. The Wild Hunt is away too often to curtail their bully boys, and when they’re in town they cause twice as much drama.”

 

The slim vampire in the corner of the room cleared his throat. “I’m sorry,” he said with a throaty West-Coast accent. “But who is MAP Securities?”

 

Namjoon transferred his glance. “Malis Avibus Pax is a supernatural security company,” he explained. “It was started in the fourteenth century somewhere by a warlord that got tired of having every supernatural rampage through his lands. Unfortunately, he was illiterate and his priest none too educated, so the name’s somewhat of an in-joke. It does sort of translate to ‘Peace of the Blade’, but it’s much more common to read ‘Bad Birds Peace’. Some few years ago, when the Angry Birds came out, it became really bad. But yes, a supernatural police force of sorts.”

 

Jisoo choked, eyes widening a little. “And the Wild Hunt? Who are they?”

 

“The Wild Hunt popular in fiction these days originated when one of the Brothers Grimm saw the Hunt in the sky. Contrary to belief, they’re not solely made up out of dead people and fae, but individuals chosen by the gods. They’re thought to presage wars, or death, or plague… quite a lot of negative things. They’re made up of some of the most powerful supernatural individuals we know, who have distanced themselves from pack, kin or tribe and sworn to follow the gods. They’re bad news. See them as last-ditch crisis consultants. When they appear, things are always ready to go to shit.”

 

Jeonghan tilted his head, long hair draping silkily back over his shoulders as he swung his feet up on the chaise. “Not universally, I’m told,” he drawled. “Beyond Namjoon’s, ah, _thing_ with the leader, the second is not as bad. Choi Seungcheol, decent man for all that he’s a berserker.” His lips curved. “Fun to tease in any case. And surely the boy you’re healing isn’t bad. He was fine when he came with us to Montauk Point. A bratty little cutie.”

 

Jisoo looked between the two of them, confusion writ large on his sculpted face. “And the vampires?” he asked cautiously. “That’s what you told me I am?”

 

Namjoon tried to smile gently. “Unfortunately. You’re definitely not recently turned, that I can’t tell you, but I also can’t tell how old you are. A true vampire should be able to. You still can’t remember how you got there? How you were turned?”

 

Jisoo shook his head slowly. “My memory is full of holes. All I can remember is that I was tired of studying? I opened a window, and everything went black. And then you woke me up and I, um, bit you. Sorry again. Your Majesty?”

 

Jeonghan waved a lazy hand. “I would’ve as well, my blood was clearly the superior brand out there.”

 

“Are you _trying_ to sound like Jin to poke at me, or are you just that arrogant?” Namjoon muttered sulkily.

 

“Ignore him,” Jeonghan instructed Jisoo. “Love problems.”

 

Namjoon sighed and shook his head. “As soon as the glamour wears off you, we’ll be able to take your photo and discreetly check it out,” he said to Jisoo.

 

Jisoo blinked. “Glamour?” he asked oddly. “I have a glamour on me?”

 

The two elder supernaturals looked at him. “Not to invoke tired, schmaltzy vampire fiction, but a vampire that feeds on a fae, especially one as powerful as me… well, you can immediately tell. They glow. Fae blood is a delicacy,” Jeonghan said. “Vampires queue up to have it on the rare occasion that one of us feels like sharing, and they can get a secondary high drinking from someone that’s had it. I’d prefer you not to be dried jerky by tomorrow, so I cast a glamour to hide that.”

 

Hand rubbing at his face, Jisoo sighed. “I’m so confused.”

 

Namjoon grimaced in fellow feeling. “And yet, you are our best link to what might be going out at Montauk Point,” he said. “If Jeonghan doesn’t mind you staying a few more days…?”

 

Jeonghan grinned. “That postbox-sized vampire has Jiminie and took my entertainment away, so I feel it’s only fair that I have one of my own.”

 

Namjoon suppressed a groan.


	9. Chapter 9

Wen Junhui carefully stood behind his master, watching as Kim Seokjin tapped irritably at a keyboard. It was one of those tiny notebooks, and his assistant had long ago seen the need for a secondary, bigger plug-in keyboard. Even now, at full speed, it lagged and shook and he wished he could tell Jin to go slowly on it. Slower, at least. Most peripherals weren’t built with the speed of a vampire’s movement in mind.

 

Seconds later the predictable happened and the keyboard broke under a particularly savage swipe of an index finger. His boss was too mannered to throw the thing off to the side, but his face told the whole story as he sat back to nurse his temper.

 

He stepped forward to remove it pieces and all, carefully scooping all the broken plasticky bits away before he hauled another one out of the cupboard. Once that was neatly installed, he hauled open another cabinet and pulled out a small can of carbonised blood, pouring it into a glass. His Prince hasn’t fed yet, and it was far into the morning for the both of them, not to mention the curt email that had ignited his Prince’s anger.

 

“Jun-ah.”

 

 _Oh shit,_ Jun thought. He recognised that purse-lipped look of old, though it wasn’t pointed at him a lot these days. _He wants to complain._

 

“Yes, ge?”

 

“Jun-ah, have you ever loved anyone?” Seokjin asked, pushing the brand-new keyboard aside and motioning for his guard to take a seat. “Truly loved, that is.”

 

Jun sat gingerly, shuffling around until he had the same view of the room as before. Kim Seokjin was a marvellous Prince: Machiavellian in his tactics, supremely intelligent and ruthless, but it was blurred by a deeply-hidden streak of kindness that had somehow never died out. “I have, ge. That’s why I died. My lover had been a particularly rash sorcerer and his competitors sought to weaken his flanks, so they turned me. They made me kill him a week after. It took a long time for me to break free. Once or twice since then, though I’ve grown careful about it.”

 

Seokjin sighed and reached to pinch at the bridge of his nose. “Did you feel guilty?” he mumbled around his drink, draining only half before passing the rest sideways to Jin. “The situation we are in now…”

 

“It’s a tough one, ge,” Jun muttered as he turned and turned the cut crystal tumbler between his fingers. “Both _your_ lovers are understandably angry at each other.”

 

“Namjoon’s the worst,” Seokjin muttered, looking down at the desk. “He’s got such a soft heart…”

 

 _He’s not the only one,_ Jun thought very quietly. _None of you would hurt this badly if you didn’t all have them._ “If I were in love, ge, I would not be drinking this crap. It tastes like purgatory.”

 

“Rude,” Seokjin sniffed. Then, quietly, “Do you trust MAP?”

 

Jun snorted. “Despite their, ah, acronym, I wouldn’t trust them to find the closest bathroom, ge.”

 

Seokjin sat back in his chair. “I want you to look into something for me. Find out if the warlock that died last time in the matter with Azazel was really as cut and dried as they said. Don’t put yourself in too much risk, but dig.” His glance flicked sideways. “Given this morning’s altercation I don’t think Joonie’s lot will speak to you, so try the Fae. They’ve got so many secrets under their hair I wouldn’t be surprised if that was the source of their glow. There’s one that’s seeing Yoongi…”

 

“Park Jimin,” Jun said promptly. “A prince of the Light Court. I’ll make some enquiries.”

 

“Be careful, Jun-ah. We don’t want him to fry you.”

 

Jun’s lips quirked into a puckish grin. “Wouldn’t dream of it, my Prince. I have your leave to depart?”

 

Seokjin sighed and straightened, waving one hand. “Go and get another guard. I need to figure this requisition order out in any case.”

 

* * *

 

Of all the places Chan expected to wake up, none of them were in what looked like a cross between a hotel and an apartment. He could practically smell the affluence around him, carried in the scent of expensive materials, pastries and the type of cologne that came with a thousand-dollar price-tag. Even the bed underneath him felt plush, warmer against his spine than he would have thought. There was a sunbeam that fell straight across his face, the product of a curtain left slightly ajar, and he wrinkled his nose at it.

 

He slipped out of bed and stretched, slowly feeling every inch of his spine unkink and pop. The feeling of warmth on his toes make him blink at the ducky socks someone had put on him. Someone generous, who liked his sick people to sleep in Balenciaga t-shirts and Supreme boxers.

 

 _Odd,_ he thought to himself. _One of Hobi-hyung’s benefactors?_

 

He ambled in the direction of the noise until it resolved itself into three arguing voices kind of like a Brothers Grimm three bears: one high and whining, one low and laughing, and one in the middle, shouting in victory. Carefully, muffling his footsteps, he crept forward until he came to door painted light blue, and peeked through it. There, seated in a half-circle on a carpet that likely cost more than his entire life, three supernaturals sat: two that smelled like fae and a werewolf of some sort. Two of them were playing some kind of FPS, and the third was punching the air, keeping track?

 

He slunk inside to watch, half-jealous. He knew rich people lived a different life, but this was something else entirely.

 

“Come sit over here.”

 

Chan jerked as one of the guys - the tallest one that smelled like a fae mix – said in a deep, deep voice.

 

The shortest one, the one glowing a little like the sun, peeked over his shoulder and threw the controller off to his friend, who took over with little fanfare. The werewolf still hadn’t moved, intent on annihilating whatever was going on.

 

“Hi! I’m Park Jimin,” the light fae said, holding out a hand. “You’re Lee Chan, right? Tae’s right, come and sit with us. Are you hungry? How’s your stomach feeling?”

 

 _My stomach_.

 

Perplexed, Chan reached to pat his stomach, frowning at the smooth feel of it, before lifting the neck of the shirt to look down. Where a claw wound should have been there was nothing but skin and muscle looking as they should. “Uh, it’s okay, thank you? Sorry, just hold on a second…” Turning away, he yanked the shirt up to look at his belly and frowned. Absolutely no wound. Generally, he couldn’t remember much whilst in his transformed state except who to bite, but this took it to a new level.

 

Park Jimin stepped up to his side and bent down to eye the stretch of muscled skin, nodding approvingly. “Tae, whatever was in that unguent you put on helped, he’s not scarred anymore.”

 

Chan coloured, dropped the shirt and turned, bowing again. “Thank you for taking care of me,” he murmured as politely as he could. Seconds later, as a hand tugged him to the tangle of controllers and snacks, he went with, obediently plopping down next to the werewolf.

 

The mixed fae, quite likely one of the most beautiful people he had ever seen, even with the King in the mix, smiled slowly at him. “You’re welcome. Kim Taehyung at your service.”

 

“And that’s Jungkookie,” Park Jimin went on. “Jeon Jungkook. He’s a naughty boy, so don’t feel like you have to give him _any_ attention!” The last was practically fluted, sickly-sweet.

 

Jungkook rolled his eyes and paused the match, reaching to pull Taehyung into his lap, feeding him little bits of watermelon. “Are you still sore because you lost three matches straight? If you don’t have it, Jimin-ssi, you don’t have it. But you’re old, so it’s understandable.”

 

“Why you…!”

 

“Peace,” Kim Taehyung rumbled around a mouthful of watermelon. “You’re frightening the cute boy.”

 

 _Oh my god, I’m in some kind of supernatural sitcom_ , Chan thought hysterically, looking left and right to get some kind of clue as to what’s going on. _They’re as bad as the hyungdeul._ Feeling entirely overwhelmed, he looked down at the plate of pizza bites Jimin pushed in his direction, then the chicken Taehyung made Jungkook hand over. “Um, thank you. Does anyone know what happened? All I remember is someone screaming as if their life depended on it, and a blur of movement.”

 

Silence fell, thick and not so golden anymore, before Jimin made a noise in the back of his throat and pulled a soda closer. “It was a banshee,” he said as he handed the soda over. “Or at least, someone that could scream like a banshee. I don’t know much about the fight, but Minghao told me you took a blow meant for him so you have my thanks, little hellhound.” The fae reached to touch him gently on the shoulder and for a second something burned there, before heat slowly infused his body in warm curls of sensation. “It was getting awkward keeping you in the grove, so I offered you asylum whilst you’re healing.”

 

Chan frowned, turning the can over and over between his fingertips. “Like… diplomatic asylum?” he asked. “Like, for political prisoners and such?”

 

The were – Jungkook? – looked up at that. “No one’s holding you prisoner,” he muttered. “I’m guessing you’re free to leave if you want.” He tilted his head as Taehyung slipped his hand into the tiny hairs at his nape.

 

“We were going to watch movies and get pizza if you want to stay,” Jimin said hopefully. “You can borrow my phone if you have to contact someone. Like… your parents? Or Hobi-hyung?”

 

The generosity left Chan more confused than ever, but he slowly nodded. “Thank you,” he muttered quietly. “I’ll take the phone call.”

 

* * *

 

The man wrinkled his nose at the expensive cup of coffee but slowly sipped at it, trying to ignore the way the pigeons shat all around him. It was like that sometimes, what with the magic that he used; animals felt the malevolence if not the source, and went a little crazy with it. It was half the reason he was in this dingy little park pretending to be a normal person with the worst coffee he had ever tasted.

 

Even the light couldn’t warm his spot up much, but then old history burnt in his veins, keeping him warm. Warm with hatred, he thought approvingly to himself.

 

Footsteps sounded and he looked up at the woman that shuffled closer. Not too pretty, not too ugly; she was the human equivalent of tepid dishwater, utterly boring. Just how he liked them.

 

She bobbed her head nervously and sat down on the bench next to him, setting down a bag from a local patisserie. From it came the clink of heavy carved crystal, even if it was charmed to smell like pastries. “The last of the blood that you wanted, my Lord. It was difficult, the alpha was resistant…”

 

“Do I employ you to make excuses?” he asked softly, urbanely. “I do not. You’ve served me well so far, Marguerite.” He paused, considering the bag. “Are they all dead?”

 

Marguerite shook her head. “We’re keeping the last alpha alive and subdued, lest the power pass on to someone beyond our grasp. The burial place at Montauk point was corrupted, but we did find one of our lost projects. The, ah, scream.”

 

“Ah yes,” the man murmured, setting the coffee aside. “Our little project. Tell me, Marguerite, was it under your watch that we lost him? It was, wasn’t it?”

 

The woman said nothing, merely stared ahead, gaze dull and dead.”

 

He reached out to caress the nape of her neck. “Don’t worry, my dearest. I’m a merciful prince. Just get him back and I won’t say too much.” His fingers pinched in. “Don’t get him back and, ah well. Everyone has an end to their usefulness. There are many more Marguerites around.” Smiling, he stood and took the patisserie back, meandering off. Behind him, the woman shuddered and winced at the fingerprint burns on her neck, taking a moment before she took the coffee and shuffled off slowly.


	10. Chapter 10

Jun knew how things should go. Vampires and werewolves and fae, staying apart from each other in their happy little enclaves, all prospering under the sun or moon as was their wont. The passage of too many years had ground that into him, taken away the edges of the clown he had been in his youth, and made sure that he knew how things should go. Relationships, friendships, business deals were ostensibly handled by the gentle hand of MAP to smooth out any issues, so that all prospered.

 

He had promised his Prince he’d investigate a little, but he hadn’t thought it’d quite end up like this, even though he had made the effort to go outside into the sunlight in ensorcelled clothing from a Chinese witch and a very large hat. Hell, someone on the subway had asked if he were cosplaying as a Chinese ghost, and even that absurdity had not prepared him for what he faced when he entered the lobby of Park Jimin’s building.

 

There was a young man at the desk there, looking rather like a eunuch clerk quietly going through a ledger. He didn’t look like a clerk anymore when Jun stopped five steps into the building, because there was a crossbow aimed steadily at him, seemingly from nowhere. The arrow was thick enough to qualify as a stake, at least half of its length jacketed in what looked like spell-enscribed silver. There was no give to the little clerk’s face, no fear in his eyes, and... and…

 

_Remember your mission._

 

He cleared his throat rather than swallow nervously and tried not to twitch. Anyone that could provide their people with spell-enforced silver and what looked to be the latest in crossbows could also provide means to deal with his strength and speed. “Good afternoon,” he said politely. “I wonder whether Park Jimin is in? My name is Wen Junhui.”

 

There was a tremble of eyelash at that, as if the little clerk couldn’t _quite_ buy the polite vampire act – then again, it was a difference from the normal brutal movie fiction.

 

“I shall see if the young master is at home.”

 

Jun smiled and nodded, moving slowly to the side and the reception chairs. The crossbow tracked him as he went.

 

Five minutes later, after a conversation that had seen Derek point him to an elevator, he wandered out of it to a door that stood invitingly open, music spilling from inside. The pressure not to enter came not from vampiric conditioning but the sense of wards and spells woven through the very fabric of the building itself. It beat against his senses like the solidity of granite, carrying more protections than some estates he had seen back home.

 

Jun paused to knock but never got that far, because a small golden sun came to stare up at him, nearly knocking him over with the sense of power sifting off him.

 

He had to stare a bit to ascertain that the guy wasn’t that small, merely a head or so smaller than him. Golden-blonde hair fluffily framed a face of surprising beauty, from lips that could almost rival his Prince’s to clear blue-green eyes that shimmered like an ocean he saw once. A powerful body, but lithe, like some acrobats he had also seen.

 

 _Park Jimin,_ he remembered of the brief in the Camarilla’s files. _Prince of the Court, Beloved of the Light. Here as part of a treaty with the old countries back home. Heir in line to a billionaire’s fortune. Second of the court here. Power not to be misjudged._

 

His lips twitched slightly. The second most powerful individual of the New York Glade was dressed in a baby yellow sweater and thin black leggings, making him look less like a powerful being and more like a fluffy chick. “Park Jimin?” he enquired just to be sure, and bowed as the Fae nodded. “I’m Wen Junhui, from the Camarilla here.”

 

The golden being blinked and dampened his power just a little. “Oh, you’re Tae-tae’s brother’s guard, right?” He pushed the door open a little and stepped inside. “Come on in.”

 

 _Ah yes, the Prince’s adopted brother._ Jun didn’t know much of the mixed fae, but he knew he was deep in the Prince’s heart; no one quite knew why Kim Seokjin had adopted him so very rigorously. “Thank you,” he murmured, and stepped into an apartment the equal to any of the Tower. He trailed through rooms thick and tasteful with antiques, out towards a balcony door, right into the midst of what seemed like an enchanted bower. It was green and glowing and warm, and for just a second he felt the sun’s dreadful bite before that too went away.

 

There were people there, people he barely had a chance to see before Kim Taehyung bounded up to him with a familiar boxy grin to give him a big hug. Jun grunted at the impact, but wrapped arms around him for a quick squeeze that turned into a complicated handshake after a slap of the back. It was always like this, even though he didn’t know the man well. “My lord,” he greeted respectfully. “And, ah… gentles all.”

 

He looked at the group around the table. One was a guy barely the same height as Park Jimin, but built and currently vacuuming through a box of pizza. The other…

 

The other was a young werewolf alpha, lip slightly curled as he growled, Bambi eyes settled on the hand he still had on Taehyung’s shoulder.

 

_Well well. If it hadn’t been for business I would have tweaked the puppy’s tail._

Instead he stepped away from Taehyung and nodded to the dense whorl of energies that manifested as a hellhound. He looked as if he had just woken up, with his hair in a duck butt and young cheeks puffy as a dormouse with pizza. As he watched he blinked, swallowed nervously and stretched out the box of pizza towards him.

 

“No, thank you.” Jun made himself at ease in the chair that Park Jimin pointed out, wrapping his robes around himself and taking off the hat he had on. “I’m glad to see you are recovering. Today would have been a great deal more painful if you hadn’t jumped when you did. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do for you? Ever. I didn’t catch your name before you rescued my dignity, however.”

 

The young hellhound smiled at him. “I’m Lee Chan. You’re welcome though, it’s what MAP does, right…right?”

 

No one seemed to have the heart to break the bad news to him. “Er, right,” Jun murmured. “It’s a good thing I found all of you together. My Prince asked me to investigate something, but I haven’t the foggiest where to start. It’s about the incident a few months ago. The, ah… the demonologist. The one that was, ah, stopped.”

 

He didn’t imagine Jimin’s eyes narrowing at the question, nor the way that Taehyung’s hand very indolently stroked at the side of the werewolf’s neck. “It’s not a big issue,” he continued. “We’re just doing due diligence to make sure that all the loose ends on the Camarilla’s side are tied up. Making absolutely sure that no vampires were involved. That sort of thing.”

 

“Why aren’t you at the Grove asking?” Taehyung murmured, gaze intent on him. “Despite the bond between Oak and Glade, the Fae are not the primary contact for magic-users in the city. They’re a diverse bunch.”

 

Jun’s fingers settled together slowly. “I thought to ask those they might have an, ah, less formal relationship with. In a way it’s fortuitous to find all of you together: I had meant to ask the packs as well, but I was confronted with a locked door when I went to their headquarters.”

 

Jimin’s lips trembled with amusement. “And you did not, um, insist upon entry?”

 

“No!” Jun said innocently. “That would be trespassing, wouldn’t it?” His eyes flicked to the young hellhound still stuffing his face with food. “Right?”

 

Chan spluttered, coughed and dipped his head, cheeks colouring. “I think so?” he said after a swallow of water.

 

“You wouldn’t have found them anyway,” the werewolf said as he put his hand high on Taehyung’s thigh, fingers biting in slightly. “Most of the pack is out of town on retreat.”

 

Jun made his smile silly and a little amused. “And you are, young sir?”

 

The two Fae looked between them; it was a five-count before the young alpha’s cheeks coloured slightly. “Jeon Jungkook,” he said.

 

More staring. Jimin and Taehyung were suffused with laughter, but it broke as the young hellhound looked up thoughtfully. “Wait,” he said slowly. “That matter was already closed months ago from the report hyung read us. If you’re investigating now…”

 

 _Well, well. “_ Just to wrap the matter up,” Jun said easily as he stood. “An after-action report, you might say. Still, I’ll check in at the grove. Thank you.”

 

Jimin jumped up as well. “Give me your number,” he demanded happily. “I’ll ask some of the people there to chat to you?”

 

Jun patted his pockets, hauled out his phone and gave his best grin to all of them – especially the young alpha. Cheerful, broad, filled with fangs, and he almost burst out laughing as the puppy bridled again. “Shall I tell your brother you’re coming for dinner soon, Tae-yah?” he asked. “To introduce him to the family?”

 

Pink with suppressed laughter, Park Jimin stuffed the phone back into his hands and chivvied him out. “Good day good bye have a nice day, Wen Junhui-ssi!” he said over the low, rolling growl that came, eyes very merry. “Walk carefully!”

 

Laughing loudly, Jun went, humming happily in the knowledge that he had a new target for a few jokes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * Surprise? I'm still alive? Sorry, I've been updating other stories recently... 
> 



	11. Chapter 11

New York at night was a melange of different smells, and Hansol wished sometimes he could scratch his nose off, or carry around a sachet of something that smelled good without looking too effete. Despite being born here, despite living the first five years of his life here, he was still used to Seoul’s cleaner smell. Here, especially in the area he could afford, it was a filthy mess of drugs, alcohol and unwashed bodies, along with the occasional rank mustiness of wet animal. Oh, he could sleep in the Park, Namjoon- _hyung_ wouldn’t mind, but he was a man, not a wolf, as much as he was bo…

 

His trail of glum thought shattered as he heard a tiny whimper. Deviating from his course, he tracked the sound to a noisome alley, ‘round one of the dumpsters and right into the corner of it, where a sheet of corrugated iron haphazardly sheltered a dry spot. There was a man there, along with a tiny moving bundle.

 

Hansol didn’t have to touch the man to know that he was dead, one of the tragic losses the streets of New York bore. The little scuffling bundle worried him more; it occurred to him that the heat coming off the man’s body meant he had only been dead a couple of hours, and he could smell the faintest scent of dog…

 

No, scratch that…

 

It was a puppy, a tiny Maltese one that fit into the curve of his one palm. It was wet through to the skin, poor thing, and sluggish already; from the ribs on it he couldn’t tell when last he ate but he reckoned a good few hours ago if the dead guy had been feeding it. Grimacing, he hauled it closer by the scruff of its dirty neck and stuffed it under his shirt next to his stomach where it was warmest, and studied the dead guy.

 

He didn’t know what to say.

 

“I’ll take care of him,” seemed the most apt, as did pinching a sheet of the dirty blankets to cover his face respectfully before he straightened to phone the police and report the body. He stayed just until the lights started to show up before he scooted, wandering off aimlessly as he tried to remember what to feed very young puppies.

 

The puppy was asleep before he could locate a pet store that was still open, and he left with a small bag of essentials. His mind still couldn’t come up with why he was doing this, why he was feeling so achy and lonely, but that hadn’t disappeared by the time he walked into the back door of The Basement.

 

Yoongi- _hyung_ wasn’t there from the look of things. Instead, Jeon Jungkook was already getting ready for the early set, with the mixed-Court Fae from days earlier doing something to his face in paint. He grunted to the two of them as he walked past, went to the staff bathroom and got to washing the tiny, filthy little beastie.

 

It was young and thin and tired enough it didn’t offer any difficulties. In fact, it just rested in his hand, seemingly enjoying the slightly warm water around it, and gave the occasional yip as he tried to clean stuck mud from between tiny toes.

 

“What am I going to do with you?” he asked it. “I’m not exactly a dog person? I don’t even know if you’ll be able to…”

 

Chrysie, one of their Fae servers, stuck her colour-shifting, ear-pierced head inside as he peered over his shoulder.

 

“Vernon?” she asked. “There’s a guy here asking if he might speak to you? Seungkwan? He says he knows you.”

 

Hansol’s shoulders relaxed and something in the pit of his stomach eased a little. They had chatted a bit after Seungkwan had brought him breakfast the other day, but they hadn’t talked much afterwards beyond the odd texted meme… he had felt too awkward after the big revelation and had wanted to give him space. “Sure,” he said. “Show him in?”

 

Moments later Seungkwan’s scent entered before he did, smelling divinely of scoria soap and cologne and clean clothes with some kind of flowery soft detergent. Seungkwan himself looked a little nervous but _good_ , dressed up like he had been that first night. “Hansol-ssi? Are you…oh!” His eyes widened as he saw the little puppy and he rushed closer. “Omo…. Omomomo! It’s so cute! I didn’t know you had a dog! May I touch it?”

 

Hansol nearly laughed and nodded, transferring the puppy’s tiny wet body into Seungkwan’s warm palm. It kicked once before going back to sleep, nestling its tiny face onto Seungkwan’s wrist.

 

 _Yeah no doggo, I know how you feel. He smells_ nice _._

“I don’t have a puppy,” he explained softly as he continued washing tiny back paws. “But I was walking in to work tonight, and I came across this little guy. His owner had died, and if I left him there he would as well, so it wasn’t really a difficult decision.” He huffed a tired laugh. “To be honest, I don’t even know what I’m going to do with him – I promised the man I’d take care of his dog, but given what I am, and my lifestyle… I don’t know how much I can take care of him. But…” He bit his lip, unsure how to explain the roiling, aching loneliness in him.

 

Seungkwan’s hand found his, stilled it for a moment. “You’re a good man,” he said plainly. “You’ll find a way. In fact…” He bit his lip and looked down at the tiny puppy. “I’ve been thinking of getting a pet. He’s still so tiny, I’ll speak to my RA and see if I’m allowed to take him?” His eyes brightened. “I’ll be able to carry him around with me, and make sure he gets fed as he has to, and make a puppy Instagram account for him…!”

 

Hansol’s held-in laugh burst out from him. “You realise what that means?” he asked as he rinsed the puppy off.

 

Seungkwan’s brows knit as he picked the puppy up to wrap its soaked body in the warmed towel Hansol held out. “What?” he asked.

 

“I’m going to have to insist on visitation rights and puppy dates, and…”

 

This time, when someone knocked again, he felt like snarling. “Yes?” he gritted his teeth as he saw Jungkook look in with his face half-painted.

 

“Sorry to interrupt your puppy bonding time,” Jungkook drawled. “Soonyoung- _hyung_ wants us back in the Park.” He flicked his glance to Seungkwan. “Not sure about you.”

 

“Please come,” Taehyung said with a deep voice over his shoulder. “Do you want to? You can sit with us. It won’t be as scary as last time and I want to see the puppy, please!”

 

Hansol looked back at Seungkwan, spotting the poorly-hidden fright on his face. “Do you want to stay here rather?” he asked softly. “You can stay in the back-stage area, it won’t be a problem if you want to do that.” He transferred his gaze to Jungkook again. “Right?”

 

The matter passed between them, ruffled at the tiny hairs at the nape of their neck, settled into a matter of dominance. Jungkook clearly didn’t want Seungkwan here; just as clearly Hansol wanted him here, and between the two of him his was the stronger wolf, his was the gaze that won even though he was a year younger. Jungkook looked away first, expression sullen, but it cleared a little as Taehyung touched the back of his neck, causing his smile to turn bunny-sweet. “Sure,” he said. “But, I mean, you’re going to be alone, unless some of the bartenders come back here between turns.”

 

That clearly decided it for Seungkwan. “I’ll go with and sit with Taehyung-ssi,” he muttered, holding the puppy a little more closely to his chest. “We’ll look after Bookkeu.”

 

Hansol blinked. “Bookkeu?” he asked, confused.

 

Seungkwan sniffed, moving to grab the puppy’s things. “He’s a Boo now, so Boo, and kkeu because he’s so cute! Bookkeu!”

 

“I like it,” Taehyung said, drying puppy and towel with one single snap of his fingers. “I've always wanted a puppy, now I'm going to get one as well. Come on, this way, this way… help me think of names?” He chivvied Seungkwan out, hooking an arm through his, and talked loudly as they exited.

 

“Dude,” Jungkook said, skeptical and amused and irritated, all in one blend. “Dude, you got a nose for problems.”

 

Hansol’s shoulders slumped as he flipped him the bird. After all, it was true.

 

* * *

 

Kyle looked up at the sky above him. It was so, _so_ beautiful, especially at night. He had always loved the stars, though New York’s lights prevented him from seeing them often. He could still remember trips upstate, long holidays into the Catskills as they learnt to live off the land in the national park. Many of his firsts had been under these stars: first love, first lover, first leadership fight, first pup. So, _so_ beautiful. He wasn’t precisely sure where he was now, only that he didn’t expect to survive. Twenty-seven days ago they had hung him on the tree like a sacrifice and started bleeding him; Twenty-seven days he had survived so far.

 

They hadn’t given them the dignity of a house over their heads when they had kidnapped them. The people that did so didn’t see them as anything but parts; he had seen way too many pieces of his comrades travel past to have any hope of getting out of the situation alive. He had lasted the longest. He was the pack leader, the strongest alpha, the one that should have protected them, and he had _failed_ them. It didn’t matter that he had been unable to call for help; there was some kind of mystical shield, and no one in their pack had been able to get through.

 

That failure ate at him like the eagle that used to eat Prometheus’ liver. It gnawed at him even past the massive tiredness of being nearly drained of blood. He could hardly breathe, couldn’t think past the headache that pounded at his temples.

 

He had felt the last of them, little Jeremy, die a few minutes earlier. They had carried his flayed skin past him, uncaring that he cried. They would not grant him the dignity of death. The plain-faced woman with the burn scars had seen to that. His regeneration was such that he’d last for weeks still, even with the way they abused him.

 

He breathed out slowly, then breathed in, then out again, trying to slow down his heartbeat, and closed his eyes against the stars. The faint scent of white-ash greeted his nose, dim like an unfamiliar friend, but it stirred old memories, called up hazy images of his grandfather talking about the old country and the old religion.

 

He had never believed in the old gods. He had never needed to. Now, the smallest he had ever been since birth, he tried to.

 

It beat through his blood, snarled into the kernel of pack leader’s power he had been holding away from them until now. He closed his eyes and prayed, desperate.

 

 _All-Father, who kept our forefathers, please… I beg you,_ please _. Have mercy on an old wolf. I hang from the ash as you once did, I suffer as you once did. Please… set me free…_

 

There was a great deal of noise around him, but he ignored it, praying and shaping the power as best he could.

 

Kyle Merritt had been born underneath these stars. He would die under them tonight, by _his_ choice, if Odin was merciful.

 

* * *

 

Seungkwan settled in with Bookkeu on his lap and nestled back as the two Fae on either side reached to pet and play with the puppy. Things looked grim over in the circle of talking supernaturals; he only knew them faintly, from Taehyung’s adoptive brother to the tall blonde man that had healed him. There were two very bright people mediating some sort of dispute, but he was too far away to hear what was going on. Instead…

 

He frowned and tilted his head, fingers stilling on Bookkeu’s fur. “Do you hear that?” he asked, quizzical, of Jimin-ssi to his left. “Is there some kind of party going on in the park?”

 

Jimin blinked at him, gazed past towards Taehyung, and tilted his head. “No?” he said cautiously. “What are you talking about?”

 

Seungkwan’s mouth opened to explained, but his nose itched suddenly, and he sneezed at it. Once, twice, until the itch died down but got replaced with a thick, bloody kind of smell, like the scent you got when walking past a blood donation point. “Eurgh,” he muttered. “That stinks. I’m talking about the horns. Can’t you hear them?”

 

The two Fae looked at each other before Jimin grabbed at his jaw and wrenched it around, looking deep into his eyes. Whatever he saw there caused the golden man to curse and jump up, screaming like a loon.

 

Seungkwan blinked, feeling faintly affronted, and drew a breath in to complain.

 

The complaint never came. Instead, as Taehyung frantically grabbed at Bookkeu and curled him away and into safety, Seungkwan screamed as something terrible ripped through him. It darkened before his eyes, turned into a star-scape speckled with blood, and he saw him, the older man hung on a tree by his entrails as people scurried around him like ants. He screamed and screamed and screamed, high and terrified, and tried to reach up to claw his eyes out, but he couldn’t. The dying man was staring directly at him, eyes red with blood and power.

 

 _I’m sorry,_ the man whispered in his mind. _I’m sorry you have to see this._

 

He Screamed, until it turned to thunder around them, and a god reached down into his body.

 

* * *

 

Hansol’s head whipped around at the first, terrible scream. It raked at him, forced him down; Park Jimin had dived the vampire Prince of the city down, and the other supernaturals were likewise pressing the undead there into the loam, protecting them with their life-force. He fought to hold his head up straight, until it came to sheer stubbornness: he managed to get to his feet underneath that scream, aware that the other two weres did not, and opened his mouth to snarl as the little hell-hound snarled and changed over, bounding into the sky.

 

The leader of the Hunt, frightening Jung Hoseok, was a seething mass of burning blue; he was almost on Seungkwan when Hansol registered, and in the next was plucking a huge spear from his chest as if the student generally carried weapons embedded into his flesh. Out and out and out it came as he ran closer to reach for Seungkwan to protect him. The last of the crackling lightning-filled spear scraped free, and silence reigned abruptly as Seungkwan slumped forward nervelessly.

 

He gathered him up, turned his head to watch: Jung Hoseok snarled as he grasped the spear, shoulders bunching with muscle.

 

“Namjoon!” he shouted and threw the spear into the sky.

 

Despite the fact they had been arguing Kim Namjoon shrugged off the hold the elves had on him and reached up with hands glowing with power. The sky above them pealed with thunder as the wards opened, raked apart just long enough for it to fly through.

 

It disappeared into the sky, arching towards the east, and Hansol looked back at the body in his arms, trying to dab blood from his lips. “ _Hyung_ ,” he said urgently, trying to attract Taehyung’s attention. “He’s bleeding from his mouth, did he rip something? That was the same as the other night…”

 

Taehyung got up with a groan, uncurling from a wriggling Bookkeu. “Hold on, let me…”

 

 _Oh_.

 

It hit Hansol between one heartbeat and the next: he felt Kyle die out in the Catskills, felt him pass along the death of the others still heavy on his soul. He felt the power of the pack alpha hit him like a brick in the chest as it came to him, not Jungkook, lured there by strength he so rarely talked about. It burned down his soul and settled into his bones, and all over the state, he felt the other wolves snap into place in his mind. There the Algonquin moon-shifters, _there_ the elders that had lived to make their retirement in the Adirondacks. Packs from the Finger Lakes, the Thousand Islands, even the bones that had still not been unearthed from Montauk because everyone had been too busy.

 

He knew somehow that Kyle had bought the transfer with his own blood, that his pack _was_ no more, and he pressed his face deep into Boo Seungkwan’s neck to try and hide his tears.

 

Chwe Hansol become the pack alpha of the New York pack, and mourned people that he had never known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * Tremendous apologies for taking this long to update! 
>   * We all know Bookkeu, right? 
>   * As a reminder, Hansol is a DJ at Yoongi's club, The Basement, and recently met Seungkwan when he protected him. 
>   * Also as a reminder, he's one of only two wolves in the city since the majority of them are out on winter pack bonding time, during which time they go wolf and live as close to the land as possible. 
>   * Also as a reminder, Seungkwan somehow has a Banshee's powers. 
>   * The tree that Kyle hangs on is an ash, which is also the type of tree that Odin hung impaled on. 
>   * The spear that Hoseok throws is never named outright, but is Gungnir, Odin's spear. 
> 



	12. Chapter 12

Hoseok landed on the edge of the blasted area, alighting neatly at Chan’s side. The ground in front of them was still pinging from Gungnir’s impact; together, when they wandered out over the clinking soil he wrinkled his nose.

 

“Did you know where you were throwing it this time?” Chan asked unhappily.

 

Hoseok sighed and shook his head. “I never do,” he muttered. “The gods’ weapons know where to go, but I’m more worried where it appeared in the first place. I didn’t think the Chimera had it in him to survive Odin’s touch like that.”

 

“ _Hyung_ ,” Chan said again, this time reproachfully. “His name’s Seungkwan, not ‘Chimera’.”

 

“Listen to the little wolf,” came a voice from their side. From the bits of forest left, Choi Seungcheol loped, accompanied by a small, glowing figure. “Of everyone who could be at fault for what he is, he’s not one.”

 

Hoseok breathed in. To have the First Four together in a place like this was no coincidence, none at all. “Fine,” he muttered, made ungracious by the stress of shouting at Namjoon and the evening’s upsets. “What did you find so far?”

 

Lee Jihoon wrinkled his nose and shrugged his shoulders. Small but powerful, most people thought him Fae with the light that shifted off him; very _very_ few knew who he had been in his previous incarnation. “It stinks of unhallowed rituals, even through the spear’s energies,” he said dismissively. “There were ritualists caught in the woods, hunting for ingredients. I took care to question them most thoroughly. We are not facing the work of a sorcerer with a little demonic crush here. This is a network. It had organization, and that means only one thing.”

 

Hoseok frowned. “Bad enough for the Hunt to be called here away from the Black Woods trials?”

 

Jihoon nodded once, precisely. “You have a higher demonic infestation. Either they came through in the Seventies, or that recent mess with the sorcerer was some kind of smoke shield for something else entirely.”

 

Chan blinked. “Is that why the vampires were asking about it?” he murmured.

 

Seungcheol, cricking his neck, frowned. “They did what?”

 

“I was still at Jiminie- _hyung_ ’s house… remember about a week ago? One of the older vampires from the court came asking about the guy that the chapter here took care of. He said he was just tying up loose ends, making sure no vampires were involved.”

 

Hoseok’s stomach churned. “No,” he said hesitantly. “No, they don’t work like that. A vampire pumping people for information means they’re interested now, and that means that something’s giving them pause, and _that_ means that the case might not have been so clear-cut as imagined. I remember us having to leave quickly after we took him down, the world-wall was so thin in the Black Forest you could sneeze through it… what happened?”

 

Seungcheol shot him a look. “I thought your partners would have told you by now,” he said finally. “Isn’t that why you guys are arguing?”

 

“Watch it,” Hoseok shot back bitterly. “I have teeth. I can bite back.”

 

Jihoon, rolling his eyes, stepped forward to reach for the spear. It was buried at least half its length, but he pulled it from the ground as if it was a toothpick, grimacing at the way it hissed and spat in his hand. “MAP here took him and chopped him up into little squares, bones and all, and Fedexed a piece to every sorcerer, hedge-witch and worker-of-magic close by as a warning,” he said on a monotone. “They made a special point to the Druid and mailed him an eyeball.” He paused. “I will _never_ understand humans.”

 

Chan’s eyes had grown so large they almost popped; at the last he turned and retched from the terrible visual.

 

Hoseok felt a band squeeze around his head from the sudden, terrible knowledge. No wonder Namjoon was angry, no wonder Seokjin was counselling caution… “Shit,” he finally got out. “So we stand divided, just at the time we stand together.”

 

Jihoon handed the spear to Seungcheol, in whose hand it purred and settled down. “Demon 101,” he said shortly. “Why fight a united front when you don’t have to. I’m guessing a duke or archduke. Perhaps even a prince, though you can normally sense the fallout from their malevolence much clearer than this. I…” He quieted as the band around his wrist beeped, frowning at it. “Is this all for now? I have a fitness session booked for five, it’s a special client.”

 

Somehow, even thought the nausea, Chan managed to struggle upright for that one, wiping at his mouth. “You’re a fitness coach?” he asked incredulously. “But you’re so…”

 

Hoseok hastily stretched out a hand to rest on Chan’s shoulder. Jihoon was fairly fond of their hell hound, but there were _limits_. “Go,” he advised Jihoon. “Seungcheol, liaise with the new pack alpha – Chwe Hansol, I believe. He’s going to need help to shoulder the burden. Channie, will you be able to get rid of what corpses remain here? I’ll see to cleaning the area.”

 

At their three nods he jerked his chin to dismiss them, turning to face the blasted area. Of all the times he could use a druid…

 

_Namjoon… did you really think I would do that to you?_

 

* * *

 

Choi Seungcheol had always had a complicated relationship with wolves. As one of the original _Úlfhéðnar_ he had had a respect for wolves that bordered on the spiritual, but he had also run into battle with a pelt over his shoulders and they could _smell_ that on him somehow. It didn’t make for the most convenient calling card. He had been blooded by them early in his life and still bore the scars, but Odin had called him instead of letting him go were, and had not relaxed that claim since.

 

He consulted his phone’s screen then the small brownstone in front of him. It looked innocuous, certainly not what he would have thought a pack of wolves. Someone had placed a dilapidated bunch of fake flowers in a pot in one window, but sunlight had bleached it to faint ghosts of the original colour. It could do with repointing on the bricks and fresh trim paint too, but… well. Circumstances being what they are, he didn’t expect renovations any time soon.

 

Grimacing, he pressed the bell next to the intercom. Sound crackled; the voice that came was very hoarse.

 

“Yes?”

 

Seungcheol frowned. “Good day,” he greeted calmly. “This is Choi Seungcheol. I’ve got an appointment…?”

 

No one answered. Instead the door buzzed to let him in. The climb wasn’t too bad, only to the third floor, but the man that met him was decidedly not happy to see him.

 

Quite tall, quite handsome, and stinking of a dark Fae of sorts, it was only the necklace of teeth that gave his nature away; the glamour was _impeccable_. The teeth were a hodge-podge of human, were, fae and vampire, with pride of place given to two large troll fangs that fairly hummed with pleasure.

 

_The last troll died out in the Middle Ages; he’s powerful._

 

He tried a smile, the smile he got back was gleaming and bright. “Choi Seungcheol, the second of the Hunt?” the dark Fae asked. “You here on business or _business_?” In the stronger corridor light his purple hair bleached nearly to pink, and refracted off the ring he had in his nose.

 

It took Seungcheol a second to unpack that. “The first,” he said carefully. “I made an appointment to meet the new alpha and offer guidance if he should need it, not give him any trouble…”

 

“Mingyu?” came a loud voice from deeper in the apartment; seconds later a man with a compact, powerful body wandered out. “Let the man in. It’s ok. We can handle his brand of trouble.”

 

Seungcheol’s eyebrows nearly rose to his hairline at that. “No trouble,” he said again.

 

They let him into the apartment, reluctantly on Mingyu’s side. It was surprisingly less ratty inside, but nothing to write home about. Jeon Jungkook sat in one corner, going through a thick stack of letters, and looked less than impressed to see him. He also looked very young, but there was _muscle_ on him, from strong thighs to the play underneath tattooed arms. There was another man there, and it’s to him that Seungcheol’s attention went, drawn by the aura of power around him, even if he did have rose-coloured hair and a faraway look in his eyes.

 

Seungcheol nodded his head. “Alpha,” he said. “I…”

 

Hansol held up a finger to his lips and pointed down; it was only when Seungcheol looked down that he realised there was someone else in the room, this time in the form of a roan-haired man with absolutely no presence to him, sleeping with his head on the pack alpha’s lap.

 

_The chimera, the one they told me about? What’s he doing here, and looking like that?_

He looked awfully small curled up against the alpha, swallowed in a sweatshirt that smelled of the tooth fairy, and Seungcheol could not tell if he was asleep or unconscious still. “Shouldn’t he be at HQ?” he asked quietly. “That’s Boo Seungkwan, isn’t it? The chimera?”

 

The atmosphere in the room dipped, became cold and hostile. Even the were-tiger’s friendly expression became less so.

 

Seungcheol gave a shrug to defuse things. “It’s not important. I’m just here to hand over our contact numbers and ask if there’s something I can help with. I understand that you didn’t have much pack experience before? If there’s anything we can help with… the Hunt isn’t only here to collect, as it were. If you have problems with the challenge forms, or pack finances… you’re going to be facing quite a couple of challenges for this territory, you know.”

 

Jeon Jungkook bristled again, but kept his mouth shut.

 

“No, thank you, one of the Elders is coming down next week to help,” Hansol said quietly, seemingly unaware that he was carding his hand through Seungkwan’s hair in a slow, petting motion. “Has the scene at Montauk been released yet? I want to make sure they’ve been buried as they should be.”

 

“It’ll be any day now,” Seungcheol promised. “We’re still investigating, seeing if we can run down who’s buried there, but the analysis takes some time.” He bit the inside of his cheek and sighed. “Look. I’m not your enemy. I can’t prove it right now, but I’m not.” He dug in his pocket and hauled out a business card, turning it over so he could scribble on it. “If you need anything, just bill it to this account, alright?” he muttered, handing it to the were-tiger.

 

The card passed from were-tiger to ‘Mingyu’ to Chwe Hansol, who nodded mutely.

 

“I’ll walk you out,” the were-tiger said; Seungcheol went with because he couldn’t think of a single thing that’d make the shitty situation any better.

 

Outside, loathe to leave, he watched the were-tiger squint slanted eyes up at the sun.

 

The man turned to smile at him after a minute. “I’m Kwon Soonyoung. We felines don’t really join a pack, but I’d like to make it clear that I consider them my boys in any case, and Mingyu-ya has taken a shine to Boo Seungkwan, calls him _Bogsung-a_. I understand the Hunt is very powerful, and you’re its Lieutenant, and I like to cooperate with MAP as much as the next person…”

 

 _Lie_ , thought Seungcheol. _Everyone hates MAP. Even I hate MAP._ “Yes?” he said cautiously.

 

“I would like you to understand that our pack alpha doesn’t really get attached to people, but he once wish-boned someone that hurt one of his loved ones, and he’s in a delicate state of mind right now.” Kwon Soonyoung _smiled_ at him, all wide and teethy. “And he’s still coming to grips with what happened. So please understand that if any of your MAP dick-sticks come around and swing theirs around, or mail _us_ little pieces of person, or demand Seungkwanie back, he will tear them to little pieces, and Mingyu-ya and I will help, to say nothing of Jungkookie.”

 

_Wow. Message received, loud and clear. I knew MAP personnel were screw-ups, but something is definitely very fucked here, if they’re so unhappy they’d risk fighting the Hunt._

Seungcheol gave a dip of his head and reached his hand out, open and slow and hopefully friendly. “We understand each other then. If they do come around, I ask that you phone me on the number on the front of the card. Your pack has suffered enough.”

 

Kwon Soonyoung met his hand-shake with the strength of an athlete of some sort, and wandered back in without any further words.

 

Seungcheol watched him walk away before he turned to wander down the street, reaching to flip open his phone. “Hobi- _hyung_ ,” he said smoothly into it. “The situation is worse than we thought.”

 

* * *

 

Jimin somewhat pitied the vampire still trapped in their court. Hong Jisoo looked pretty, pale gold and utterly confused – then again, if Jeonghan- _hyung_ were lavishing that much attention on him he’d feel confused as well. In contrast the spellcasters that sheltered on the outside edges of the glade looked miserable: Namjoon- _hyung_ had bags underneath his eyes, Seokmin-ah’s green-gold skin had faded to pale olive, and Tae’s eyes reflected old, ugly mysteries he hadn’t seen in a few years.

 

In contrast, Yoon Jeonghan shone like a little sun, exuding energy to let the Glade recover from the ugly intrusion of one of the gods’ weapons. It had hurt pulling the wards open that quickly; the Glade was in an area that wasn’t quite pocket dimension and not quite real. Channelling a pathway like that wasn’t the easiest even under the best circumstances. He could hear it clustering close in the whispers of leaves and lesser fae, the head-spinning of the little forest sprites, and the sighing of those Fae that never left.

 

That’s not even considering the damage poor Seungkwanie had done in his ignorance, which brought his mind full-circle back to the point.

 

Releasing his hold on Tae’s hand, he stood. “We’re going to have to give him training,” he said. “I expended too much energy tonight to keep the vampires alive, and it’s hurting him a little more every time it happens. Very soon his throat will be so hurt that he can’t even sing, and that’s his reason for being here. I sent his lecturer a note under an alias that he’s sick, and Jin- _hyung_ stamped it for me, but it won’t hold forever.”

 

Hong Jisoo frowned slightly. “There was a woman…” he said contemplatively. “Where I used to live.”

 

“Joshuji?” Jeonghan questioned. “You remember something?”

 

“I don’t know,” Jisoo whispered softly. “But I can see her, just on the other side of the candle. I…” His brows knit with concentration. “She’s smiling at me, and there’s a noise at the window and I look up and it turns black. But it didn’t frighten me, because I knew she was with me.” He frowned again. “Santa Muerte was with me.”

 

Jimin blinked; he didn’t know if Jisoo even knew what he was saying. “Namjoon- _hyung_?” he questioned.

 

“Our Lady of Holy Death,” Namjoon answered tiredly. “She’s charged with healing, protection and safe delivery across the bridge of death. Generally seen as a psychopomp just like a banshee. There is a temple here in New York; we could at least ask. Not you, Jiminie, you’re too close to the light to be comfortable to them.”

 

Seokmin cleared his throat. “I can go with. I need to leave to check on the sleeping spell I put on Seungkwanie – perhaps Tae- _hyung_ can come with? He’s another betweener, and he knows the werewolves best.”

 

Jimin wanted to complain, but felt Tae’s fingers ease in his grip. “I’ll go check up on your brother and Yoongi- _hyung_ ,” he promised softly. “If Hannie- _hyung_ is alright with that?”

 

“I’m trapped here for the nonce, so you might as well go, Jiminie,” Jeonghan said. “I think Namjoon- _hyung_ needs some recuperation still, and they owe you for treading on your territory. Go shine a light in their darkness. Tell the hardass I said hello.”

 

Smirking, Jimin pulled his energy back in and nodded. It’s been entirely too long since he got to play, and the thought of seeing Yoongi- _hyung_ perked him up. Giving Tae’s hand another squeeze, he wandered out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * Hobi finally finds out what has been done in New York in the Hunt's name. 
>   * The spear [Gungnir](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gungnir) can only be wielded by the chosen of the gods in this universe. Úlfhéðnar he once ran into battle clad in the skins of wolves. 
>   * Nuestra Señora de la Santa Muerte is a cult centered around a personification of death which guides people an delivers them to the afterlife, much like the Grim Reaper or other psychopomps like the banshee. 
>   * Jisoo finally remembered a memory from his life before! 
> 



End file.
